Tristan's Tale
by sabor ice
Summary: A tale about Tristan before and after he becomes a knight. Please read and review! NOW COMPLETED!
1. Default Chapter

_Title: Tristan's Tale_

_Author: sabor ice_

_Rating: Mature 13 and up_

_Summary: This is a story about the lone knight, Tristan._

**One**

It was near dawn. The east horizon glowed warmly its pinkish orange colors as the sun rose to greet the lands. Tristan had been awake since before dawn. He went to the same hill he always went to to watch the sunrise. His dark eyes need not be shielded from the oncoming light, for he had watched the sun many times, and it never once stung his eyes. He sat upright, one of his knees tucked under his elbow, and silently watched until the sun was fullly in the sky. Watching the sun rise and set had become a tradition for Tristan. He always appreciated the ways of nature and the laws of the wilderness. It had been a beautiful sunrise indeed.

Inhaling the fresh air around him deeply, Tristan stood and slung his bow and arrows over his shoulder. He had left his village before anyone else was awake. His village was small, and mostly consisted of women and children. Tristan was younger than most of the men, most would still call him a boy, although he was nearly 17. He didn't get along with most of the men that well, and he didn't care much for the noisy children that pestured him day in and day out. But, the village suited him, and Tristan was fine with that.

He turned from the path he walked and ventured into the forests. Tristan knew if he were to be caught hunting alone, he'd be punished, because it wasn't his turn to go, but he didn't care. Tristan learned long ago that if he wanted something, he had to get it for himself. In this case, Tristan was starving, and he was going to go hunting no matter what anyone said. He'd been whipped enough times by the village elders for his disobediance, but he learned to take the pain and move on after each beating. The only person he really trusted was himself, but other than that, he found it easy to have trust in the village doctor as well. Her name was Elanesa, and she was always good and kind to Tristan. (He often was sent to her after his beatings.) Tristan pushed the whole thing from his mind, because he wasn't going to let it bother him today. Today he was going hunting.

Stalking about in the brush, Tristan found a nice spot to lay down on the ground and wait for deer to appear to come and drink from the nearby spring. He drew his bow and arrow and lay silently between some trees that blocked view of any animal looking for danger. A smile ran across Tristan's lips as a female deer came into plain view. He wanted to laugh at how easy this was. He slowly raide his bow and aimed to kill the deer at the neck or heart, so it would die and not suffer. Tristan didn't kill for kill, or as a game, as some of the other men did, but he only killed what he needed. He'd take all the meat back with him that he didn't eat, and the deer skin to make shoes and saddle bags.

As Tristan was about to release his arrow, though, another arrow whizzed through the air and struck the deer down. Tristan jumped to his feet as he saw the deer kick frantically with its legs, trying to rid the arrow from it's side. Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed Tristan by his tunic and lifted him off the ground. Tristan's bow fell aside as he struggled to free himself from the man's grip.

"Out again, are ye?" the man said. "Thought you would have learned your lesson by now, Tristan."

"Kill her, Drumas," Tristan replied, looking him square in the eye.

Drumas laughed and turned Tristan around to face the deer. "What 'er? What's the matter, don't like watching her squirm?"

The deer still kicked, and even tried to get up. Tristan tried to look away, but was forced to watch the deer until it finally died. Drumas pulled Tristan up to his filthy face and sneered at him.

"Bastard, you could have just killed her," Tristan muttered under his breath.

Drumas striked Tristan across the face, but he only rose his head proudly once again.

"Don't you ever tell me what to do again, ya hear?" Drumas said. "I'll make sure the elders give you twice the beating this time! Maybe that'll teach you one and for all!"

The huge man dropped Tristan to his feet. Tristan eyed his weapon that lay on the ground, his hair falling over one of his eyes.

"Go ahead," Drumas said. "Pick it up."

Tristan didn't take his eyes off of the burly man as he bent down to reclaim his bow. As he touched the weapon, though, Drumas raised the end of his bow and smacked Tristan on the head with it. Tristan fell to his knees, and the world seemed to spin. Then, he was struck again, and he saw nothing but blackness.

When Drumas brought Tristan back to the village, about a mile from the hunting grounds, the townspeople and village elders were already assembled at the town square. Drumas dropped Tristan onto the steps near the foot of the Building of the Elders. He crawled slightly to get up, and looked up at the head elder, Serco. The older man stood dressed in his robe-like clothing, his weary eyes focused down on Tristan. As he began to stand, Drumas kicked Tristan to his knees again. Serco approached him, then.

"Tristan, when will you ever learn to obey the laws of this village?" Serco asked in his groggy voice. "Have you not yet learned you lesson?"

Tristan kept his eyes averted, and would not speak to the elder.

"I hate to see like this, but you must understand my position, and the position of all the elders," Serco continued. "You know now that you must be punished for your actions, as an example."

"And, Drumas killing an animal and leaving its corpse to rot, was that one of your examples, too?" Tristan said in a monotone voice.

Serco sighed heavily, and placed his bony arms behind his back. "Twenty lashes."

Twenty lashes it was, and Drumas delievered each one to Tristan's back with the greatest of pleasure. Before the pain took over his clouded mind, Tristan's last thought was of Drumas, and how when he decided to kill a man, he would be the first.

Tristan awoke in the infirmary a day later. He tried sit up, but pain seered through his aching back. Noticing him awake, the doctor quickly went to Tristan and offered an arm to help him. Tristan declined and forced his body to sit upright.

"I'm glad to see you awake, I was a bit worried. I thought they overdid the punishment so," Elanesa said, getting a cloth wet to clean Tristan's wounds again.

Stiffening in his seat, Tristan winced everytime the doctor applied the cloth to the lash marks on his back. She shook her head slightly.

"I really do wish you would stop leaving the village as you do, Tristan," she said, her curly blond hair falling in her face. "Someday they are going to whip you to death."

"Then, so be it," Tristan answered. "Sometimes I wish that would be best."

"You musn't speak that way. I know you, Tristan, I know what great potential you have," answered Elanesa. "I've seen you shoot; I've seen you swordfight. You are a natural."

"Well, you're the only one who seems to think so," Tristan replied.

The doctor finished cleaning Tristan's wounds and began to bandage him. Tristan elevated his arms slightly, so she could wrap the cloth around him.

"Don't worry about Drumas, or the elders, or any of them," Elanesa said. "You and I both know what greatness you have deep inside you, and that's what's important. Someday soon, I know, you'll show the world what you can do."

"You make me sound like some kind of hero out of a storybook. It's not reality," Tristan said, looking at the young woman.

She looked up at him as she tied off his bandages. "Then, promise me one thing, Tristan. Promise me you won't get yourself killed."

"Everything dies," Tristan answered.

"But, not you, not yet," she said. "Promise me, for our friendship's sake."

Tristan peered forward again, away from the doctor's deep gaze. He sighed and nodded in response. Tristan wasn;t afriad of dying, but he promised her that he would stay alive. "For our friendship's sake."

Elanesa dipped her head slightly, and conjured up a small smile for him. She placed her hand gently on his arm, that held the same arrow tattoos as his face did. "You should go back to your quarters and get some sleep. There has been called a counsel for all of us in the morning."

Tristan nodded to her again and stood. He walked over to a chair and retreived his clothing, before exited the doctor's quarters.

**End 'One.'**


	2. Chapter Two

**Two**

The night proved restless for Tristan as he tried to sleep. He had many things on his mind: the deer, Drumas, and especially, Elanesa's words. He had never had a friend before, but if she said they were friends, he believed her words to be the truth. Tristan lay on his side in a dreamless wonder. What was this conference tomarrow that Elanesa had spoken of? Such a meeting would have been annouced ahead of time, unless they had done so when he had been asleep at the doctor's quarters. Tristan turned to lay on his back, but winced when his burning back touched the bed. He quickly reverted back onto his side and sighed deeply, as he tried to find sleep.

Dawn crept over the eastern horizon as it had yesterday, and each day before that, but Tristan watched the sunrise from inside his quarters. He could hardly move from the pain on his back, let alone take another beating for going off just to watch a sunrise. He wasn't outside up on that hill today, but Tristan was glad he still got to see it from afar. He rose stiffly as the sunlight danced across his rugged face. He brushes his stragilly dark braids out of his eyes and walked over to a bowl that contained water for washing. Tristan poured the cool water over his head and shivered as the sweet intensity of the pure water dripped around his face and shoulders. Wiping his sleeve across his eyes to dry them, Tristan quickly dressed and exited his quarters. He was aimed to go over to the eating house and grab some breakfast, when he noticed a gathering of people near the entrance of the village.

As he approached the crowd, he also noticed that there were strangers about. They were men in uniform on horses carrying the sign of Rome.

'Roman soldiers?' Tristan thought. 'Why would they be here in the village?'

Tristan stood among the villagers silently, until Elanesa approached him and caught his arm. Tristan looked over at her, and noticing the worried look on her face, he asked, "What do they want?"

"They are recruiting boys to take and train as knights," she answered.

Tristan looked from the soldiers to Elanesa again. "This is lunacy. The only boys here are not over the age of 6."

A soldier overheard Tristan and walked his horse towards him, breaking through the townspeople as he did so. He sat proudly on his steed and peered down at Tristan.

"What did you say?" he demanded to know. "Speak!"

"I said this is lunacy! These boys here are no older than 6. They cannot be expected to leave their families, let along wield any kind of weapon!" Tristan spoke his mind.

"How dare you speak to me with such disrespect. You disrespect me, you disrespect the Pope of Rome," the soldier answered in his husky voice. "Who do you think you are?"

When she saw that Tristan was about to respond something wickedly terrble, she pleadingly looked at him not to. Tristan clenched his fists and bit his tongue, though he wanted to lash out at this impudent guard! Then, Drumas shoved villagers aside as he made his way over to Tristan.

"You, again! Lipping off to royalty now, are ye?" he said with a laugh.

"If he's royalty, then I'm the king," Tristan muttered back sarcastically.

"How dare you speak in the name of the king!" the soldier butted in. His square face turned red and he breathed hot air from his hyge nostrils. Then, he looked around the crowd. "Who's in charge here! I'm demand to be told!"

Everyone hesitated to speak, even the eldars. They knew not what these soldiers would do if they found out who each of them were. When no one spoke, the leader of the Roman soldiers became angry at the village's disobediance. He eyes up a young child, a little girl who clung to the skirts of her mother. He bent down and grabbed the child. The mother beat mercilessly at his arm, trying to free her crying child from his grasp, until she was hit away by another soldier. The crowd grasped in horror as the hysteric child was held hostage by the Roman soldier.

"Tell me who leads here and I shall set the child free!" the leader called out.

"Is this how they teach to treat innocent civilians?" Tristan asked, his eyes not leaving the sight of the man.

"We are directed to do anything necessary to recruit boys and bring them to their post. It is the order of the Pope himself," he anwered in a huffy voice. The child still screamed and reached out for her crying mother.

"Yet, you have neglected to answer my question," Tristan replied cooly.

Elanesa said. "Tristan, stop it."

The Roman soldier finally became too impatient, and drew his weapon on the child he held. The mother of the child cried out in terror, and finally Elanesa ran forward to the soldier and tugged on his arm before Tristan could stop her.

"Leave the girl go," Elanesa said, and glanced back at Tristan for a moment. "I am the leader of this village."

The soldier, pleased, dropped the child into her mother's arms. The crowd shifted as the mother fled with her little girl.

"There, there, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, holding the doctor by her arm. "Foolish, foolish woman."

Tristan started forward and was knocked back by the other Roman soldier. His chest heaved outward from the blow he had received. The leader glared down at Tristan, and then at Elanesa. Fear welled in Elanesa, but she dare not show it. She kept a blank expression and would not let the man break her.

"Commander," another soldier called out. "Enough of this already. We will be expected back with our recruits, and then move on tomarrow at dawn."

Elanesa was dropped to the ground and she was helped to her feet by another woman. The leader peered down at Tristan again and nodded absently.

"Yes, we will go now," he said, and then pointed at Tristan. "And, he will be joining us."

"No," Elanesa said, but Tristan raised a hand to her.

"I will go," he said. "Give me a moment to prepare."

Tristan quickly returned to his quarters, Elanesa in close pursuit. Tristan slipped on some old armor he had salvaged from long ago. He also tied his curved blade to his side and slung his bow on his back.

"Tristan, why are you doing this?" Elanesa asked, her golden hair flowing around her shoulders.

"If it gets those blasted men away from you, away from the village, then so be it," he said.

"Tristan," Elanesa said.

She grasped his arm, and he quickly turned around to meet her woeful gaze.

"You told me that I had potential. Will this not be my chance to prove that I am useful for something other then a pin-cushion?" he aked.

Elanesa gulped and reluctantly nodded. She looked up at him again. "Will you ever come back?"

"I don't know," Tristan replied, brushing past her. "Only time will tell."

Elanesa stopped following and tried to smile for him. "If you ever come back, I will be here."

Tristan nodded to her and exited his quarters again. Elanesa choked back her emotions and watched as Tristan made his way back to the Roman soldiers. "Good luck, my friend."

The Romans had supplied a horse for Tristan, as he mounted the white steed. He no longer looked back at the faces of the villagers, because he did not care to remember any of them after this day. Then, for a moment, he heard a familiar voice yell to him.

"Hey, Tristan! Don't worry, I'll take care of your wench for ya while your gone!" Drumas said, cocking his head back.

Tristan remembered his vow to himself and sought to fulfill it. As the horses started forward, he took a dagger from his pocket, turned slightly, and launched it at Drumas's throat, killing him almost instantly. It was the first man he had ever killed, but he knew it wasn't the last. The Roman soldiers accompanied Tristan as they led him even closer to his unknown destiny.

**End 'Two.'**


	3. Chapter Three

**Three**

The group had been riding for less than two hours. Tristan's horse began to lead the way, as if it knew where it was going. When one of the Roman soldiers gave Tristan a backward glance, though, he dropped back behind them. it was also at this time that it came to Tristan's attention that there were other boys riding with them. He hadn't noticed them earlier, probably because there were only a few. But, how many others had been taken before for training? He didn't look over straight away at the other boys, until they began to stare at him first. Then, one of them rode up beside him. Tristan looked at him from the corner of his eye. He looked about the same age as Tristan, but perhaps a year older. He was a rather lean young man, wide-shouldered, and had very strong facial features.

"Don't worry, it'll get better," the other young man spoke.

"What?" Tristan asked

The other young man looked straight ahead.

"It is hard at first to leave your home, but after awhile, it all seems like a distant memory," he replied. "It will get easier."

"I do not fear what lies ahead," Tristan said, eyeing him up. "What's your excuse?"

The other chuckled , dropping his head slightly. "That's what they all say. It's what I probably said, too. Something to that nature anyway."

"How long have you been out here?" Tristan asked thoughtfully.

The older boy shifted easily in his saddle. "Me? Many months I have been traveling with these men and boys to go to my post, wherever that may be. But, I was the second they picked up. The first was Gawain over there."

Tristan peered over at the other young men and boys that wearily rode their horses. At that moment, the young man extended his hand to Tristan. Tristan just looked at him as if he were offering him poison, and did move to shake his hand at first.

"My name's Dagonet, and I assure you, it's just a hand," Dagonet said.

Tristan raised his eyebrow, and then quickly shook Dagonet hand. "Tristan."

"Well, Tristan, if you ever need anything, or perhaps just a friend to talk to, you know where to find me," Dagonet said, riding back over by the other boys.

Tristan watched Dagonet until he met the others. He sneered under his breath at Dagonet's comment. A friend? Who needed a friend? Tristan had been alone since the day of his conception, and every day thereafter. He had not known anything different, except for Elanesa for a brief time. She was a good woman. She was a faithful friend and he knew that she would someday take flight to another town and make a good man's happy wife. In Tristan's opinion, friends were figments of mortal imaginations. You have friends and you lose them, or they lose you. If all is lost when you have friends, then why have them at all?

The day's slow beginning came to a rapid end as the sun nestled down into the arm's of the Earth. Tristan had never ridden much before, so he thought he should faint from exhaustion before the soldiers finally allowed them to make camp for the night. They had traveled many miles in this first day. Somehow, Tristan felt that tomarrow would be an even longer day. He didn't know where exactly they were going, or how long it would take, but Tristan didn't care enough to ask. At least he knew where he was. They were still on the plains that were sparcely surrounded by small patches of woods.

The group had made their camp in the covern of the woods. The Roman soldiers stayed on the firmer soils while the young men were exiled to the outskirts of the forested area around their own pathetically small campfire. At least the Roman soldiers had been decent enough to offer everyone food and water. Tristan ate small bites of his dried meat, as he lay on his side on the far side of the fire. He watched as the others eagerly gulped down their meal.

The smallest boy in the group, only 12 or 13, lay back on the ground. "Ah...I am so glad we finally got to rest. I couldn't stand one more hour on that horse!"

"Me either, but remember, Galahad, that horse is saving you from having to walk!" another boy, a couple years older, replied. His long, curly hair draped over his shoulder slightly as he bent down on his left arm.

"Complain, complain, that's all I ever hear from you girls!" the chubbier of the boys called out, taking a swig of his drink.

"Back off, Bors, at least your fat arse gives you some cushioning when you ride!" the boy called Gawain answered. "Galahad's skinny butt is worn out by time he mounts his damned horse."

The boys all chuckled slightly, nestling in their sleeping spots and gazing inward at the blazing fire. Tristan was curious by then at their peculiar personality traits, and continued to listen silenty.

Yawning, Galahad asked, "So, where do you think we are headed tomarrow?"

"I heard one of the soldiers talking about something; He said we have to go further north to these farming type towns to pick up last recruits. Then, we're supposed to be heading to our posts," Dagonet replied, poking at the fire with a stick.

Galahad propped his chin up upon his arms and stared at the others. "What do you think will happen then? Do you think we'll be separated?"

"Why, Galahad, are you scared?" Bors teased him.

"Well...yes, aren't you?" Galahad replied honestly.

"Me? Ha!" was Bors' reply.

"Leave him alone, Bors," Gawain whispered, his eyes half-closed. "Don't worry, Galahad, everything will turn out fine, you'll see."

Laying down completely, Galahad sighed. His big eyes watched the emerging stars of the night sky. "Promise?"

"Of course. We're all brothers now, aren't we?" Gawain said.

Then, there was silence among all the boys. They had drifted off to sleep almost instantly. Tristan swallowed the last of his meat and leaned back against a tree. He was intrigued by these other boys. They were not what he had expected at all. They had known each other for such a short period of time, but they had grown beyonf friends. They were, as Gawain had mentioned, brothers. This thought dwelled in Tristan's mind, as he watched the dancing flames of the fire and fell asleep.

Tristan eye's shot open and peered around the perimeter. He saw that the fire had since died down to mere embers, and that everyone, including the soldiers at the far side of the encampment, were fast asleep. He stayed completely still, his soft breathing blending into the silence of the night. Suddenly, his sharp sense of hearing led him to hear a small rustle among the tree branches behind him. Tristan lept to his feet and turned to face the tree, his hand near his small dagger at his side. A rustle came again, but this time it was accompanied by a small squawking noise.

Tristan blinked and stood stupidly there for a moment. He walked forward, and bent down near the brush under the tree. Taking his small dagger, he carefully cut through some tangled branches until he came to the bottom of the pile. Inside, still tangled in the leaves and branches, was a baby hawk. Sqawking lowly, the bird tried to free itself, but Tristan could tell that it's right wing was broken. He resheathed his dagger at his side and carefully took up the hawk from its prison. The hawk tried to bite his hand, but Tristan quickly moved it before it had the chance.

"Bite me, and I'll bite you back, you hear?" Tristan said calmly to the bird, stroking its ruffled feathers.

Taking a couple of short twigs, Tristan made a sling for the hawk's wing. He guessed the hawk fell trying to fly from its nest. He knew the hawk would be alone to die if he left it where he found it.

The hawk cooed as Tristan scratched under its chin. He checked the sex of the bird; it was a female. Sitting down again against the tree, Tristan set the hawk upon his forearm and leaned back to sleep.

"Good-night, Iliana," Tristan said. "You will be my one true friend. Good-night."

**End 'Three.'**


	4. Chapter Four

**Four**

Tristan nodded off eventually after settling down again by the tree. When he awoke near dawn, he saw something he did not expect to see. The hawk had nestled against his chest, and had not wandered away. He gingerly stroked the bird's feathers with the tips of his fingers.

"I knew you would not fail me and leave," he whispered, still stroking the hawk. "Awaken now and watch the sunrise with me."

The hawk squawked cheerfully as Tristan set it atop his shoulder. After regaining its balance, the hawk clamped it small claws onto Tristan's tunic and clipped at his hair lovingly. Tristan stood against the ancient tree and placed on hand on it for balance. He gazed out at the plainess of the rolling hills, when the brilliant sun showed it's awesome face over the horizon. Its warm sunbeams caressed Tristan's slightly windburned face. Not knowing when he'd be able to enjoy dawn's first light again, Tristan closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment. After the sun set itself higher in the sky, the moment passed for Tristan, and it was already time to move onward.

As he mounted his steed, Tristan set Iliana on his shoulder again. The other boys rode up next to Tristan and admired his new pet.

"Hey, now, where'd you find that beauty?" Gawain asked.

"She was hurt, and I helped her," Tristan said, as the hawk nudged at his high cheekbones.

"What's her name?" the youngest, Galahad asked curiously.

"Iliana," Tristan answered.

"Seems like you two have an understaning, eh, Tristan?" Dagonet smiled.

Tristan raised his arm and stroked the bird again before putting his hand back on the horse's reigns. "Seems that way, doesn't it."

Bors slapped Tristan friendly on the shoulder. "You're all right, Tristan, you're all right."

"Coming from you, is that an insult or a compliment?" Tristan asked, with a slight smirk on his face.

The other boys chuckled under their breath, followed by Bors' hearty laugh. Then, one of the soldiers rode up to Tristan, stopping in front of him. He turned his horse around and glared down at him.

"This is not a picnic, boy, lose the hawk," he ordered.

Tristan didn't answer the man in any way. As the soldier moved his hand quickly to knock away Iliana, the bird, frightened by his sudden movement, bit the commanding officier. Tristan backed his horse away, and put his hand over Iliana for protection.

"Damn that thing!" the soldier shouted, sucking on his hand like an infant.

"She doesn't like fast movements. They frighten her, so she becomes defensive," Tristan explained.

"Give it here; I'm going to rid of it now!" the soldier shouted, but then was suddenly surrounded by the other young men.

"Leave him alone," Dagonet said, a gleam in his eye.

"Yeah, or you'll have to deal with us," Gawain said.

"All of us," Bors gruffly added.

"And, you wouldn't want any trouble now, would you?" Galahad asked, his brown curls bouncing in front of his eyes.

The other couple Roman soldiers came about the group then, but the boys stood their ground. The oldest soldier grunted under his breath.

"Keep the damned bird, then! In a week I won't have to worry about any of you anymore anyway!" he said, and rode onward.

The boys smiled, pleased with themselves. Tristan watched them from under his dark hair. He didn't know what to say to them.

"I could have taken care of myself, you know," Tristan finally said.

"We know," Gawain said, slapping him on the arm. "We just thought we'd offer a hand for the occaison."

Tristan nodded curtly to him in response, and rode on with the others.

Three days later, the group traveled more than 100 miles. The horses were beat, and everyone was exhausted. They stopped in a small town to refresh their supplies, and moved onward. By the fourth day, they had already picked up their last recruits, two other boys from seperate villages. The younger of the two was called Lancelot. He openly rode out to meet them as they approached his village. Tristan didn't know whether to admire his courage or shame his distaste for unecessary heroics. The second boy was a couple of years younger than Tristan. He was small for his age, with fair hair and green eyes. He seemed quiet, yet willing, but also seemed sad or distracted. Tristan didn't let it bother him, though. He had better things to worry about than the happiness of others. He wasn't even happy half the time, so why should he care? He liked the way he was, no matter what others thought about him.

That night, the boys shared another fire. They told stories of their homes, at least what they could remember of them, but Tristan, Lancelot, and Arthur all stayed silent in their solitude. Tristan gazed across the fire as he fed his hawk. He watched Arthur for a split second, and turned his gaze toward Lancelot when he caught the boy looking directly at him. He averted his eyes then, after one of the other boys whispered something to him.

"Hey, did you hear about what the soldiers said about Arthur?" Bors asked. "He said that he's supposed to lead the knights one day."

Gawain laughed. "Where do you get your information, Bors? Honestly, I'm betting that you think with your arse sometimes!"

"Do not!" Bors said, flinging food at the long-haird boy. "I heard it straight from the soldiers' mouths!"

Tristan looked again to Arthur, but he had since layed down and faced the opposite direction on the blazing fire. Lancelot sat against a tree and watched the others with soulful eyes.

"Aw, who cares! It could change in the how many years was it...?" Gawain asked.

"15 plus," Dagonet answered.

The group fell silent a moment, realizing that 15 years plus of their lives was own by Rome.

"15 years...wow..." Galahad said, scratching his head and neck. "Long time..."

"That it is," Dagonet said, eating a piece of meat. "But, we'll get through it, eh?"

"Do we have a choice?" Tristan said. "No use talking about, is there? We're here anyway, no matter if we're living, sick, dying, or dead."

"We will return home someday," Lancelot called out from his spot, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

He sat with his legs at a 45 degree angle. His dark curly hair was swept out of his eyes, that seemed to star into each of the other boys' souls.

"For you, that may be true," Tristan replied, placing Illiana on his forearm again. "But, that's just a fairytale dream for the rest of us."

"Tristan," Dagonet warned, shaking his head.

Galahad's eyes began to water then, and he hid his face in his knees to hide his tears from the others.

"We will go home someday, in this life or the next," Lancelot said. He looked up at Tristan. "All of us."

Tristan fell silent then, and moved to the other side of his tree with Iliana. He wasn't going to sit and listen to this crap all night. He'd rather sleep then sit and dream all night.

The other boys shook their head and nestled down in their sleeping areas. Lancelot still watched after Tristan, before turning on his side and falling asleep himself.

**End, 'Four.'**


	5. Chapter Five

**Five**

The follwing day proved strenuous indeed as the group trekked onward toward their posts. The problem wasn't that the day was not fair, or that their rides were not fine; it was the company that was troublesome, plain and simple. Although the continuous riding made everyone irritable, it was the mesh of rotten attitudes that added to the group's ailments. By the afternoon, the boys were practically ignoring one another. At least, Tristan, Lancelot, and Arthur seemed to be on that same level.

Gawain rode up beside Arthur, who had been riding with his head down all day.

"How are you, my friend?" Gawain asked the younger boy.

Arthur looked up at Gawain with his huge green eyes. "I am fine."

"You don't look like you're fine. Sure you don't have something?" Gawain wondered, with raised eyebrows.

"What I have cannot be cured with any amount of rest or medicine, let's just leave it at that," Arthur answered coldly.

Gawain licked his wind-burned lips and nodded. "Wow, you sound more like Tristan now."

"Tristan?" the boy asked.

Gawain nodded to the silent young man with the hawk on his arm. "Yes, he always seems to have the same morbid attitude towards everything and everyone."

"I'm not being morbid," Arthur retorted.

Gawain chuckled, sitting forward in his saddle more. "Sure, and neither is he."

"Well, maybe we are both alike, then," Arthur said proudly.

"I doubt it, my boy. Tristan IS only like that, he's never been any different. Now you, on the other hand, have just shown a less morbid side of you," Gawain identified, and this brought a slight smile to Arthur's lips. "Methinks you are just adjusting to changes, and that's good, because there are many more to come."

"You seem so very confident in yourself," Arthur said, his voice cracking and deepening, and then cracking again.

"Well, let's just say I've had time to think about it and let it all sink in," Gawain replied cooly. "Don't worry, we all went through it, as you are. It'll get better, you'll see."

Arthur nodded and clasped hands with the older boy with the long, golden hair. "Thank you, my friend."

"Of course, all us young men have to look out for one another, don't we?" Gawain added with a smile.

Arthur glanced over at the other quiet boy with the dark, curly hair. He watched him from afar until the boy stared him down. Then, Arthur focused on his riding, and turned away from the other boy again.

Later that day, the soldiers allowed the boys to take a break and rest themselves and their horses before moving on. They were to make camp at their new outposts in the evening.

Tristan raised his arm high in the air, so to see if Illiana could attempt to fly. He had removed the crutch around the bird's wing, for her injury was more from the initial shock then an actual wound. He clucked softly to the hawk, who turned around on his arm, but not yet letting go.

"Come on, Illiana," Tristan said. "You know you want to go out."

The hawk turned its head sideways and cooed at Tristan. He stroked Illiana's feathers from reassurance, and again raised his arm for her. Moments later, the hawk had regained its confidence, spread its wings, and took flight. Tristan, as well as the other boys, watched the hawk as she disappeared into the forest trees. Tristan turned around, and caught sight of the dark haired boy, Lancelot, staring at him again for the longest moment. Then, Tristan left to go to the river near the others to wash up.

Soaking his dirty hands in the large stream, Tristan's fair colored skin finally shown through the caked on filth. He cupped his hands and allowed water to flow into them. Quickly, he splashed the water onto his face and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Standing, he walked over to his horse and began to tend to it as he was approached by Bors. At first just standing there, but then spoke when he saw the glimmer of Tristan's sword on the horse's saddle.

"Nice weapon you have there," he said to Tristan, who didn't even bother to look up. "Ever use it?"

"Once or twice," Tristan replied.

"Well, let's see then," Bors said, and was soon joined by Galahad and the others.

"What's going on?" the petite boy wondered.

Bors placed his large forearm on the boy's shoulder. "Tristan here's going to show us his moves with his sword."

Tristan clicked his tongue and turned to the others. "He is?"

"He is?" a mocking voice, belonging to Lancelot, called out.

The medium built boy was about Tristan's height, but still was younger. His fierce, determined eyes peered into Tristan's. Folding his arms in front of his chest, Lancelot chuckled to himself.

"Well then, let's see," there was a pause. "Or, is he just full of it after all?"

"I don't need to grovel before you to prove that I can wield a sword," Tristan replied gruffly.

"I wasn't asking you to, I was telling," Lancelot replied.

Tristan peered down at Lancelot. "Well, then, since now I have Lancelot's permission, I guess it is ok."

His hand slid over the saddle and retrieved his sword. He held the shiny piece of curved steel between Lancelot's face and his own. Lancelot scowled at him again, and decided to fall back. The others watched Lancelot retrace his footsteps back to his horse, and in a matter of seconds, he had returned with twin blades in his hands.

Dagonet tried to step in between the two, but was completely ignored as the others followed Tristan and Lancelot out into the open. Bors laughed and nudged Dagonet in the side; he was quite proud of his handy work.

Tristan raised his sword to his waist. "I hope you can fight better then you can speak, for your sake, that is."

Lancelot smirked and raised his swords by his sides. "Don't worry about me, worry about yourself there, grandpa."

The two began to circle each other.

"Better hurry up, you two," Galahad said from his position where he kept watch. "The soldiers are coming back."

"Don't worry, there will only be two hits here," Tristan said to Lancelot. "Me hitting you, you hitting the ground."

Lancelot laughed, his eyes were ignited as if they contained fire within them. Suddenly, he lashed out at Tristan. Tristan dodged his move and countered it. Then, Tristan swung his sword around and tried to strike Lancelot from the side. Lancelot crosses his swords in front of him speedily, and locked Tristan's sword in hiw own.

"Had enough yet?" Lancelot asked.

"You wish," Tristan answered.

Dagonet rolled his eyes and said to Bors, "Really, Bors, why do you always have to open your big mouth. You've got them acting like children and fighting for no reason!"

Bors didn't take his eyes off the fight, but answered. "No, not nothing. They're too proud to back down from a challenge. It's their honor they are trying to win by fighting."

He slapped Dagonet's shoulder.

"Come on, Dag, you going soft on me already? Don't act like your weak!"

"It's not weak to value life, Bors!" Dagonet answered, angrily.

"Aww, come on, it's all fun and games here!" was Bors' response.

Back at the quarrel, Lancelot had charged Tristan three more times, and failed. Tristan swung his sword at Lancelot, and he ducked and rolled, and got up on his feet again. Then, Galahad ran back to the group.

"Break it up, those soldiers are coming this way!" he warned.

All the boys, save for Tristan and Lancelot, quickly remounted their horses and awaited whatever the outcome was going to be for this outrage.

Tristan and Lancelot had abandoned their weapons, and had begun to engage in a fist fight. Lancelot struck Tristan around the cheek, and Tristan knocked him back, making him fall onto the ground. Suddenly, the quarrel was over. Lancelot, still on his back, looked up at Tristan and laughed.

"You're alright, Tristan, you know that?" Lancelot asked.

"So I've been told," Tristan answered as Lancelot rose to his feet.

The Roman soldiers had not seen the entire fight, but only the final blows. The leader looked down at the two.

"What is the problem here" he asked.

Tristan and Lancelot ignored him for a moment, as they walked to their horses and mounted them. When settled in his saddle, Lancelot walked his horse over to where his weapons lay on the ground. He scooped them up and replaced them on the side of the saddle. He also retreived Tristan's weapon and tossed it to him. Tristan caught his sword, wiped it clean, and resheathed it. The looked once again at the soldier who awaited their response.

"Nothing happened, just fixed a little misunderstanding, that's all," Lancelot replied slyly.

"Let's go," the squared-face soldier said. "We will reach your posts by dusk."

The rest of the boys chuckled lightly to themselves as the rode past Lancelot and Tristan. Lancelot shrugged, smiled, and rode on after the others. Tristan lifted his arm in the air as he began to gallop, and whistled to the skies. In a matter of minutes, Illiana was once again by his side. He ran his calloused fingers under the bird's neck.

"You have a good time?" he asked the hawk. "So did I."

He sighed heavily and smiled slightly from behind his braids, before catching up to the others that had made their way into the foresty hills.

**End, 'Five.'**


	6. Chapter Six

**Six**

The group would have made it to their posts by dusk, but after Galahad became ill, they had to stop and make camp for a few hours. Once the soldiers decided to move on, Galahad was still vomiting and riddled with a slight fever.

"We can't go on, not yet!" Gawain said, as he kneeled by the sick boy. "He can't even stand on his own two feet!"

The leader of the soldiers peered down at Gawain with untrustung eyes. "That's what his horse is for, so he doesn't have to walk!"

"How far do you think he will last if you make him ride into the chilly night?" Dagonet asked sternly.

"That is no concern of mine, boy. In an hour, you will be at your posts and I will not be bothered with you anymore!" the captain spat back.

Galahad had slipped into a stage of delirium, and began mumbling incoherently as he grapsed onto Gawain's arm.

"If it's only an hour more's ride, then why can't it wait until at least morning?" Arthur asked calmly.

The leader grabbed Arthur's shirt collar. "I don not like the way you speak to me with such disrespect! I will not be ordered around by a bunch of damned kids!"

"And if the boy dies while under your care, how do you think your life will change?" Lancelot asked, his piercing eyes bright.

"You'll be demoted, stripped of your duties, and disgraced among the other knights," Tristan added. "You wouldn't want that, now, would you?"

"The boy could have died because of anything out here in the wilderness. No one would no any different tale!" the officier nervously chuckled.

Gawain stood by the other knights. "We would know."

"You wouldn't dare," the leader challenged under his breath.

"We would," Lancelot replied.

The soldier grunted with disgust and disbelief. He pivited his horse around and waved for the other soldiers that were down on the hill.

"Make sure you get them to the post outlet by tonight," the leader said. "I will go on ahead and inform the commander that the new recruits have arrived," he said as he passed them.

The brown-haired soldiers nodded curtly and walked thier pale white horse back to the boys. The chunkier of the two soldiers leaned over his horse to grab ahold of Galahad, when he found three swords in his face. Two of the swords were Lancelot's, and the other sword was Gawain's.

"Don't even think about it," Gawain said. "He stays here until he is well enough to ride."

The other soldier sighed heavily, easing himself back into his saddle. "I will give you until dusk to help him all you can, then we ride, you understand?"

Gawain nodded to acknowledged that he understood and resheathed his sword. Lancelot watched the two soldiers until they made their way to the other side of the forest floor, then, he too, resheathed his weapons.

The orange sun silently slipped into the blanket of the night, and the stars shown brightly in the sky, like tiny pin-prinks on a blanket of darkness. The knights had made a fire near Galahad and kept him hydrated. They even piled their cloaks on top of him to make sure he stayed warm. Tristan knelt by Gawain, who still stayed by Galahad's side.

"How does he fair?" Tristan wondered.

Gawain shook his head. "I think that his fever has broken, but he still sleeps as if he were dead."

Tristan placed a slightly clothed hand over the younger boy's head and cheek, feeling for his temperature. He sat back on one knee and sighed heavily. After a moment, he nodded, as if agreeing to something of himself.

"I think I know of a plant that may help this illness to pass," Tristan said.

"A plant?" Gawain asked, intrigued.

"It's like an herb plant," Tristan said, showing with his hand what the plant looked like. "We passed some in the forest earlier on. Someone needs to go and get some, or I fear for your friend."

"I will go," Gawain said, his voice soft, yet certain.

"No, I will go," called out Lancelot from behind the two. He looked at a questioning Gawain. "You stay with the boy. I will ride back and get the herb."

"Forget it," Tristan said, standing. "You would get lost if I let you go. I will get it."

Lancelot was dumbfounded and held a blank expression when Tristan up and passed him on his way to his horse. Lancelot followed him, and crossed his arm in front of his chest as Tristan mounted his steed.

"You'd better be quick about it, for those soldiers will be back for us shortly," Lancelot said. "Wouldn't want to have to come and save your sorry arse."

The dark haired boy's lips pursed out in a bubble lip, mocking Tristan somewhat. Tristan lifted an eyebrow, amused, before heading off into the forest to find the herb plant.

Once he had found the spot, Tristan had no trouble getting plenty of the plant for the sick boy. As he knelt and cut and placed the plant into his pouch, Tristan heard a crack of some branched, and then a low growling noise. Tristan froze where he sat, and reached for his sword. It was gone! He realized that he had left it back at his horse. The low growling came closer to Tristan, and soon the wild beast came into sight. It was a large wolf-like creature, with deadly claws and murder in its eye. Tristan cautiously backed away, as the animal made ready to spring at its new prey. As it did, Tristan jumped up and grabbed onto a tree branch. The branch dipped low, and Tristan's hands could barely keep their grip. The wolf growled openly and jumped up, trying to pull Tristan down by his foot. Tristan yelled and kicked the canine in the face. The dog whined as it stumbled backward, stunned for a moment.

"You want a piece of me for supper? Well, you'll just have to do better than that!" Tristan said, pulling himself up into the tree.

Suddenly, the branch that was supporting his weight snapped, and Tristan fell to the ground with a thud! Then, the forest beast was atop of him. Its strong jaws and dripping wet white teeth only inches from Tristan's throat. The only thing that kept him at bay was the branch Tristan had shoved into its mouth after the wolf jumped him.

Just then, as the branch began to snap, something was lunged into the gray wolf's back. The wolf howled with pain and fell onto its stomach, dead. Tristan grunted as he pushed the dead beast from him. He gasped to catch his breath and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. As he stood, Tristan had a look at what had killed the wolf. It was a smirking Lancelot.

"And you gave me a hard time!" Lancelot laughed, cleaning off his weapons on the ground and resheathing them at his backside.

"I did not plan on getting attacked!" Tristan said, walking forward. "I could have handled the situation you know."

Lancelot chuckled again. "I know, I know. But, since the fact of the matter was that the wolf was about to rip you to shreads, I would think you'd be a little more grateful for my saving you."

By time Lancelot had stopped talking, Tristan had already mounted his horse.

"Maybe so, but I must warn you about something, Lancelot," Tristan said. "I'd hurry and get back to camp before the rest of the pack shows up. I'd hate to see you in need of "rescuing" as you called it."

Tristan cracked a smile and rode onward, Lancelot running up behind him. "All right, ok, you win! So, will you give me a lift or what?"

Tristan chuckled, bemused. "All right, but I'm still driving."

Back at camp, the soldiers and the others had awaited Tristan and Lancelot's return.

"What's this, a tea party!" the chubbier, freckle-faced soldier laughed out. "Let's get a move on already!"

Ignoring the man's comment, Tristan used some water in Galahad's small bowl and mixed the herb plants with it. He asked Gawain to tilt up the smaller boy's head, so he could get some of the medicine down his throat. Galahad sighed and licked his lips. He was still half asleep, but was improving in health.

"Thank you, Tristan, Lancelot," Gawain nodded. "And, I'm sure Galahad would thank you, too."

"Just see that he gets more rest when we get to the post outlet," Tristan ordered, standing up again. "He'll need it, and in a few days, will be good as new."

Gawain rode with Galahad, so he would not fall of his own. The other boys mounted their horses and followed the two soldiers to the post outlet.

**End, 'Six.'**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Seven**

An hour or so later, the seven young men and the soldiers rode into the post outlet. Pyres burned high into the inky blackness of the midnight sky, while the wind whispered through the trees like thousands of tiny insects singing their songs in the deep night. All of the boys sat weary in their saddles, as they awaited the command to dismount. Though he would not admit it, Tristan was most weary of them all. He had rode with the group to the post outlet with his arm indented into his right flank. He did not say a word, nor did he indicate that anything was wrong, but he only concealed his claw wound under his arm. Tristan sat stiffly, as the leader of the soldiers walked out of the tent and stood before them, with his arms folded behind his back like some saint.

"I have told the commander of the harsh traveling, and he has agreed that you all must eat and rest so that tomarrow you will be ready to start your training," the lead soldier said, and afterwards, he cursed under his breath.

He turned to Gawain, who still supported Galahad up on the horse. He scowled lightly and said, "If the boy's still hurt, take him to the infirmary."

"He'll be fine; he stays with us," Dagonet answered for Gawain.

"All right, enough of the small talk. Now, where's the food; I'm starving!" Bors called out from behind the others.

"You'll eat when you eat, so stay your ground, boy, or you won't be eating at all!" the soldier replied coldly. "You've been split up into multiple tents. Tent One will be Gawain, Arthur, and Galahad. Tent Two will be Bors and Dagonet. Tent Three will be Lancelot and Tristan."

Tristan rolled his eyes as he dismounted his horse. Why was he put with Lancelot in a tent? He didn't need a babysitter, or a roomate either! Things could be worse, though; he could have had to bunk with the snoring Bors or the hyperactive Galahad (though Galahad wasn't so hyper at the moment). When Tristan's feet hit the ground, he grunted slightly at the makeshift of his armor over his wound. He strode forward to his designated tent, and his grunt of discomfort and pain didn't go unnoticed by Lancelot as he made his way into the tent after Tristan.

Setting his sword down, Tristan glanced around the small tent. There was a pile of hay on either side, with only a single pillow and blanket for warmth and comfort.

"Hmpf," Lancelot said. "Love what they've done with the place, really!"

"Yeah, well, it's better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground," Tristan answered, carefully pulling his chest plate over his head.

Lancelot lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you liked sleeping on the cold, hard ground though, Tristan."

"Not especially, though I do find trees quite accomadating at times," Tristan replied.

"Tristan, congratulations, you made a joke!" Lancelot said. "Are you ok? Do you wann lie down? I hear the initial shock can be hazardous to your health!"

Lancelot laughed heartilly and slapped his knee. Tristan shook his head and hissed slightly through his teeth as he sat on one hay-bed.

"All right," Lancelot said, standing and crossing his arms. "Where did that beast get you?"

"It's fine; it will heal quickly," Tristan replied.

"Before or after it gets infected?" Lancelot asked.

"What are you, my nurse-maid?" Tristan quirked an eyebrow curiously.

"Nurse Lancelot, at your service," Lancelot said sarcastically. He even tried to curtsy, though it did not turn out to look like one.

Tristan chuckled at the lad's foolishness, and grabbed his side in agony.

"See what happens now when someone like me laughs?" Tristan said. "You put me through more pain than the wound does itself!"

Lancelot rummaged in his pack and pulled out some bandage wrap. He then walked over to a bowl that was filled with water and wetted a piece of cloth.

"So, you gonna get that wound taken care of, or am I gonna have to use force?" Lancelot asked.

"What, nag me to death...or no, perhaps call a soldier?" Tristan grinned.

Lancelot tossed the cloth and wrappings at Tristan's face.

"Do it yourself, then!" Lancelot said. "You know Tristan, making a friend is one thing, nut keeping a friend is another."

"Who said we were friends?" Tristan asked.

Then, Lancelot lay in his bed at stared up at the ceiling as Tristan examined his claw wound on his side.

"No one," Lancelot said, turning on his side and facing the wall of the tent. "I just thought that after all that's happened, we just were."

Tristan shook his head and went about wrapping his wound, before laying on his hay and falling asleep.

The following morning, the sun peered out from behind silver-lined clouds in the sky. The knights had had a full night's rest and had had the first decent meal they'd had since they left their homes. Galahad was still slightly under-the-weather, but looked 100 better than before. After breakfast, the boys were to meet outside the commander's tent to be briefed on something, or so they had been told. When they got to the tent, they saw multiple Roman soldiers on horseback, along with horses with no riders. The boys were confused by this, because the number of empty horses added up to seven. The captain, with his ratty dark hair, exited the commander's tent and paced in front of the seven of them.

"Sir, I thought the commander was to speak with us today," Arthur said.

"The commander is no longer here. The orders have been changed, and the number of soldiers and new recruits, I have found out, are limited," the captain replied.

"And...what does that mean for all of us?" Tristan asked.

"It means that you seven are to travel to seperate outposts near the Fort of Hadrian's Wall to commence your training to become knights," the man answered, clicking his tongue.

Gawain stepped forward in protest, as Galahad nearly shed a tear.

"What, you can't seperate us! Not now; not like this!" Gawain lashed out angrily.

"These are the orders which will be carried out," the captain said.

The others stepped in, but were soon silenced as they were forced by the other soldiers, onto their horse. Galahad, still in a weakened state, couldn't put up much of a fight as he tried to grasp onto Gawain's arm.

"The boy is still sick, damn you!" Gawain shouted. "You can't do this to us..to him! Have you no compassion?"

The leader of the soldiers said nothing, but only waved his hands at them, as if to shoo them away like flies.

"We will see each other again," Galahad said. "Won't we?"

"By my life, we will, Galahad, my friend and brother," Gawain declared, as his arm was hit away from Galahad's.

"We will all meet again," Arthur added loudly.

Lancelot nodded to the light-brown haired boy. "In this life or the next."

As the soldiers seperated the seven young men, half took the eastern road, and the others went off north. Tristan glanced back at Lancelot and the others one last time. "In this life or the next."

**End, 'Seven.'**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Eight**

**(Six years later.)**

Tristan sat silently above the hilltop in a tree. He had been crouched there all morning, waiting for the sun to rise. It was his tradition after all. While all the other men slept away their drunkeness and mal attitudes from the previous night, Tristan had been awake for several hours. He had chopped the firewood for morning breakfast, and watered and fed all the horses. He didn't mind, for these chores had become regular for him. Now, he sat in the ancient white oak and awaited the sunrise.

Slowly, the rays of the new morning sun crept over the lands, melting it free from its winter wasteland inch by inch. Today the sun was a warm, vibrant color of orange and red. Somehow, for Tristan, every new sun was unique and freshing. At least by the sun everyday, and the moon every night, he knew that the world had not ended. Although, sometimes he wished it would.

The days at his assigned post had been limited, for he had relocated multiple times. And, although most of the men he encountered were good men, Tristan always felt a sense of loneliness that he could never escape. At least he still had Illiana. The hawk he had saved from certain death had grown into a fine bird and had always stayed by his side. He also had his white steed, that he had received when he was first being recruited...

Tristan couldn't remember those days before he had come to his first post. Or rather, perhaps he didn't want to remember. Lifting the side of his tunic, Tristan ran his calloused fingers alongside a faded scar on his right flank. He had endured many more wounds and scars in the past six years, but he still remembered this one. Tristan didn't want to ever remember and go back to the past, but his scars always reminded him that the past was real.

Snapping back to reality, Tristan realized that he had better get back to his job before the commanding officers had a bird about his absense lately. Jumping down from the tree, Tristan collected his sword and bow and arrows and mounted his horse that stood bseside the tree. He whistled to the skies, and in moments, Illiana was once again on his forearm. He clicked his tongue at the hawk.

"You ready to go out again, girl?" he asked softly. The bird nuzzled against his tattooed cheek in response.

Tristan set off, for his job was most important; he was a scout, and must find a safe road for he and his fellow knights before they were to leave that morning.

Coming to a fork in the road, Tristan halted abruptly. He leaned over his horse slightly, letting Illiana sit upon the horse's mane, and hovered over tracks in the mud. He studied them curiously for a moment, cursed under his breath when once he knew who the footprints belonged to.

"Damn," he muttered, stiing up in his saddle. He took Illiana on his arm and whispered, "Go and warn them, my friend."

With that, Illiana took flight in the direction of his camp. "Damn," he said again, riding his horse hard after the bird, for he knew that woads were upon them.

Tristan drew his sword as he approached his camp. He was relieved when he saw that all the men still slept and that there was not a woad in sight. There was a faint scent of something in the air, but it was so faint that Tristan could not identify its source. After a moment or two, the smell had become more clear, and Tristan knew exactly what it was. Blood.

Dismounting his horse, Tristan ran to the first knight and turned him over. His throat had been cut. No... Tristan ran two a second knight and turned him over. He had been run through by a sword. In a panic now, Tristan turned over the third, fourth, fifth man, only to learn that they were all dead! Every one of them had been murdered while they slept!

Tristan, still kneeling by one of his dead companions, yelled out in anguish. All of his fellow knights had been slaughtered; now, he was truly alone and in danger. Tristan heard movement in the forest as he stayed quiet and listen intently. He could hear the movement of every woad that stood in shadow around the encampment. Tristan knew he would be greatly outnumbered, and that this would be his only chance to escape. As the sound of footprints came closer, Tristan made a break for his horse. Arrows volleyed through the air, but Tristan doged all of them as they flew. Rolling on the ground, Tristan quickly stood and continued to make his way to his horse as woads poured over his dead companions and ran after him.

Placing his hands on the back of the horse, Tristan leapt into the saddle, just as a couple woads reached him. He cut them down easily with his sword, and tried to manuever his horse through the enemy as they tried to topple him over. Grabbing one woad with his hands, Tristan snapped his neck. He suddenly felt one sword cut into his arm and another slice into his back. Tristan grunted, leanin forward in his saddle. As his horse took him away from the fight, Tristan managed to kill a couple more woads with his bow before he was safely out of harm's way.

Tristan rode for a couple of hours without stopping. He didn't know where he was or what direction his horse was taking him. The only thing he could concentrate on was the pain. Finally, after half a day of riding, Tristan caught a glimpse of tents in the distance.

"Must be the next encampment," he said to himself.

He was sure that no woad could have made it to this camp yet, yet Tristan wanted to warn them, to make sure. It was the least he good do for his lost companions, though, Tristan knew it would never make up for his foolishness. It would still always be his fault after all. As Tristan neared the camp, though, the pain from his wounds took over, causing him to fall off his horse and into unconsiousness...

When Tristan opened his eyes, the room seemed to be spinning. He was still groggy, as if he had been drinking, as he tried to sit up. He leaned up on one arm, and hissed at the pain that instantly shot through his body. He fell back onto the bed. Bed...? Tristan's eyes shot open as he felt the presense of another. He reached out to grab his sword, and realized something. Not only was he disarmed, but he was also partially naked! Tristan sat up, still only in his pants and boots. He shook his head and looked over to see a young man standing near the foot of his bed.

"What's going on here...where am I?" all these questions came out at once.

Before the man could answer, Tristan suddenly remembered what had happened. His camp...his dead companions...his foolishness that caused them their lives...the woads...

"Woads!" Tristan shouted, his body jumping forward.

The other man, slightly younger than Tristan, caught him in mid-air.

"Settle down before you hurt yourself even more, man!" the other man said. "I don't want to have to be saving your sorry arse again!"

The words struck Tristan familiar, for he had hear them before. He sat back away from the other man and peered at him from behind his loose hair and braids. The man was younger than him, with narrow shoulders, dark, curly hair, and a devilish grin. Tristan knew almost instantly who this now grown man was.

"What's the matter, Tristan, not going to say hello to an old friend?" Lancelot wondered, crossing his arms in front of his strapping chest.

"I will do such a thing when I see one," Tristan replied glumly. "Where are my clothes and weapons?"

Tristan wrapped his arms around his stomach and waited for an answer. Lancelot sighed heavily and scratched his head.

"Still the same old Tristan, eh?" Lancelot said. "Shows no gratitude for anything."

"Who says that I am not grateful?" Tristan spat back. "After seeing all of my fellow knights dead, slaughtered by woads, who says that I am not grateful for being alive?"

Lancelot's jaw dropped slightly, knowing for certain that Tristan was not lying.

"Woads?" Lancelot repeated.

Tristan nodded. "They slaughtered everyone in my camp while they slept. They could be on there way here now to try the same tonight."

"It isn't your fault, Tristan," Lancelot said.

Of course it is," Tristan said, trying to stand up. "I acted foolish...I should have been there..."

"Then, you would have been dead, too," Lancelot cut in, placing a hand on Tristan's shoulder. "You did all you could."

"And, it was not good enough," Tristan said, shaking Lancelot's hand from his shoulder. "Now, you should warn your companions before nightfall, so they can prepare for a possible ambush."

Tristan noticed his things, and walked over to a chair to collect them.

"I will," Lancelot replied. "But, you will not go anywhere tonight."

"I will do as I damn well please, Lancelot!" Tristan shouted back.

Tristan suddenly felt dizzy and practically collapsed when Lancelot caught him again. Lancelot dragged him back to his bed and layed him down.

"You're not strong enough, you see?" Lancelot said, standing back up. "I will make sure that there is no woad threat. You will stay here and rest. That's an order, Tristan."

Tristan didn't hardly even hear Lancelot, as he quickly descended back into a dreamless sleep.

**End, "Eight.'**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Nine**

It was the early evening the next day when Tristan awoke. He could tell by the mood of the outside world as he sensed it in the tent. He placed his hand on his forehead, as he wondered what the hell had hit him. He hadn't felt this bad since the first time he tasted liquor. He remebered how that episode had ended, as he had found himself face first in the dirt much of the time afterwards.

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Tristan forced his body to sit upright. Tristan cursed under his breath, as he had momentarily forgotten his painful wounds. Lifting his right arm to the side, Tristan tried to get a look at the one wound in his right flank. The gash looked to have been attended to at least once or twice, but no more since then. There was a filmy, yellowish pus oozing from his side wound. He couldn't check his other wound on his back because he couldn't see it.

Tristan climbed to his feet in his agony, and walked over to where his weapons had been lain. He took his curved blade and held it horizontal over his head, so to see how his other wound looked. From what he could see of it, the gash looked just as terrible as the one on his side. Tristan slowly, gently, lowered his arms once again. His wounds were in bad shape. He knew he must have taken a beating by the woads, but there had to have been more there than just their swords to make his wounds react in such a manner.

"Damnit," Tristan cursed again under his breath.

He had known men earlier in his scouting career who had been attacked by woads and received similar wounds. They died not many days after, not from the wounds, but from the poison that had inflicted them from the weapons of the woads.

"Poisoned," Tristan murmured to himself, leaning over his belongings, his head pressed against the tent wall.

Tristan closed his eyes and thought of what to do. He couldn't stay here any longer, or Lancelot or someone else would learn of his peril, and surely would not permit him to leave. He admired Lancelot for his nobility, but Tristan needed no nursemaid hovering over him night and day. He would rather fight this sickness that coarsed through his veins then be subject to be babied.

Knowing that Lancelot would probably soon return to 'check up on him,' Tristan knew he must leave without a moment's notice. Tristan dressed as quickly as he could, but felt as if he would vomit or faint everytime he stood straight up. The poison, he could feel, was all ready quickly spreading throughout his body. Tristan knew he had to fight the urge to lay back down, for he feared if he slept, he might never again see the light of day.

Pulling on his boots, Tristan paused a moment to take in some deep breaths. Once he caught his second wind, he collected his weapons and exited through the back of the tent quietly. Peering around the corner of the tent, Tristan had to make sure that there was no one close by to notice his retreat into the woods. While surveying the campground, Tristan almost instantly locked on to Lancelot, whom was busy speaking with another knight. Tristan cursed silently under his breath again, for Lancelot just had to be the one man to be the closest to him at that moment. Tristan shook his head, for he felt like a small child running off on his father. How incredibaly stupid he felt. The only reason he felt he should sneak off anyway was so Lancelot didn't try to force him to stay.

Tristan's horse was tied up near some of the other men's horses. He knew, although he felt ashamed for doing so, that he must leave his faithful steed behind in order to escape. As he carefully and quietly edged himself back into the tall bushes, Tristan suddenly heard the call of his hawk in the sky. His eyes jolted open, for he had forgotten to call down his bird ahead of time!

He tried faintly to whistle to the hawk, that just only kept circling him overhead. Tristan watched the other men, and then looked back up at his hawk.

"Illiana, damn it, you're faithfullness is about to cost me my escape!" he said under his breath.

Suddenly, Tristan bolted into the bushes, not knowing nor caring if anyone had seen him. The hawk screeched again overhead and followed its master into the forest. After Tristan was a decent distance from the campsite, he knew his body would not allow him to go any further. He climbed the nearest tree and settled among its thick branches. He would not let himself fall asleep, though; he dare not fall asleep. He would fight this sickness, no matter what...

Lancelot finished speaking with his companion, and bid him good evening. He had noticed the hawk spiraling above in the sky, but thought nothing of it. He figured he had better go see how Tristan was doing, since he hadn't seen the man ever leave the tent during the day. He hoped that Tristan would be feeling better though, for they had received new orders. They had to report to a new commanding officer at the base of Hadrian's Wall in three days, and Lancelot was supposed to make sure that Tristan made it there as well.

Stopping at the trough, Lancelot drank some water and held the rest in a water skin. He figured that Tristan was probably dying of thirst, among other things. He opened the flap to Tristan's tent, but by then the sun had begun to set, and Lancelot couldn't see a thing in the darkness. He set down the water skin and lit a match across one of the beams.

"Tristan, I--" Lancelot began to say, but stopped when he saw that Tristan was not in his bed.

He walked closer and searched the bed and then noticed that Tristan's clothes and weapons were gone! Letting the burnt out match fall to the ground, Lancelot rushed from the tent and ran to his horse. One of the other knights looked up at him from where he sat as he mounted his grey mare.

"What's the trouble, Lancelot?" the knights asked.

Lancelot leaned over a bit to the other man. "I want you to take out a scouting group into the east, west, and south parts of the forest. I will go northward."

The knight stood, his brown hair flowing in the breeze. "What are we looking for, though, Lancelot?"

Lancelot sat straight up in his saddle and took hold of the reigns. "An injured man...that I'm going to kill if he's not all ready dead..."

The other knight heard the part about an injured man, but not the second part. He just obeyed Lancelot's command and began to round up other men as Lancelot headed into the northern part of the forest...

Night set in quickly, and it was becoming more and more difficult for Tristan to keep his swollen eyes open. Tristan tried to remember if there was an kind of medicine plant that he could use to try and rid himself of the poison, but he couldn't think of any. He knew of some that would slow the poison, but that would have made everything even worse, he thought. He couldn't even get to another camp. All he could do was sit in a tree in the cool night air and hope that the sickness would pass him...

Lancelot knew he had been on the correct trail, for he had spotted Tristan's footprints a few yards back, but then lost them. He manuevered his horse through the dense forest as best as he could. He was beginning to become frustrated after awhile. Where the hell was Tristan, and how the hell could he get so far away in such a short amount of time, on foot, and wounded nonetheless? Lancelot couldn't figure it out as he sat there on his horse, peering around in the darkness.

Then, Lancelot heard the screeching of a hawk flying overhead. He recalled that Tristan had once had a hawk such as this one. It couldn't be his, though, could it? The hawk seemed to circle Lancelot and continued to screech at him.

"All right, I will trust you know the way, hawk," Lancelot said. "Lead me to him."

Lancelot set off again on horseback, bending down in the saddle so not to have his head taken off by tree branches. The hawk never left the sight of Lancelot as he continued to follow it in an area of especially large, thick-branced trees. The hawk screeched one last time, and settled atop one of the branches of a tree. Lancelot dismounted his horse, but kept his weapons at hand, just in case.

"Tristan?" he called out as quietly as possible. "Tristan...Tristan, are you there?"

He stopped and listened for any reply...

Tristan, who was nearly asleep, jolted awake at the sound of a familiar voice nearby. Tristan peered through a couple of branches and saw Lancelot venturing about, calling his name. Before Tristan could say or do anything, though, he noticed another shadow lurking in the bushes. Then, he saw three more, as they slowly and silently inched there way to where Lancelot was blind in the dark.

"Woads..." Tristan said to himself.

He waited for one to be directly under the tree he was in. Without another thought, Tristan jumped from the tree down onto the unsuspecting woad. He quickly stabbed the woad with an arrow, and loaded it into his bow thereafter. Lancelot didn't take the time to say anything to Tristan when he saw him kill the woad, but only drew his twin swords as two woads jumped out at him. He dodged a blow and took out both woads at the same time.

"Nice of you to join me," Lancelot said as he stood near Tristan.

Tristan peered around, searching for the fourth woad he had seen. Then, he saw him retreating back into the forest.

"Kill him, Lancelot, before he warns the rest of them!" Tristan shouted, grabbing his side and kneeling onto the ground.

Lancelot threw his sword where Tristan pointed, striking down the last woad. He quickly ran up to the enemy and reclaimed his sword. Sliding his weapons back into their sheaths, Lancelot returned to Tristan's side. Placing a hand on Tristan's shoulder, Lancelot knelt beside him.

"They were scouts..." Tristan said, laying on his back. "It means there will probably be more soon."

"Or there might not be," Lancelot replied. "What's going on, Tristan; why did you leave?"

Tristan chuckled, but then ended up coughing instead. He turned onto his side as he violently coughed onto the ground. Then, Tristan's body began to shake with chills. Lancelot placed the scout's head in his lap and held him still. He placed a hand on his face, and felt that he was also stricken with fever.

"Poison..." Tristan managed to spit out. "Poisoned..."

Lancelot heard Tristan's faint whispers and finally understood. He threw the knight over his shoulder and struggled to stand up. He finally made it to his horse and lay Tristan over the front of the saddle. He mounted up behind the sickly man, and rode off into the night back to camp...

**End, 'Nine.'**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Ten**

As Lancelot hurridly rushed him back to camp, Tristan went in and out of conscience. He could only remember look down at the horse's strong legs as it ran, and the thought of Lancelot's arm around his chest, holding him up on the horse. He couldn't understand how one man could care for him so much, that he would risk his life and try to save him. He didn't even know him, except for the formalities that is.

"We're almost there," Tristan heard Lancelot say at one point.

Nothing was making any sense to Tristan anymore. The poison still ravaged his body. As they approached camp, Tristan couldn't even make out the other men's figures or the flickering lights of their torches. His eyes opened and closed, open and closed. He still fought the sudden urge to sleep, as he felt Lancelot pull his partially dead weight from the horse.

Lancelot ordered two other men to carry Tristan back into his tent and stay near him until he came. A third knight walked up to Lancelot.

"What would you have the rest of us do?" he asked.

"Sleep well tonight, for tomarrow we ride to Hadrian's Wall," Lancelot answered.

"And, the wounded man?" the knight wondered.

Lancelot shook his head slightly. "I will see to him, thank you, my friend."

The other man patted Lancelot's shoulder and smiled before turning around and making his way back to the campfire.

As soon as the other knight left, Lancelot walked to Tristan's tent. He nodded two the two men to leave, and after they did, Lancelot went to Tristan side. He opened Tristan's eyelids with his fingers to check his eyes, and he lay his head on Tristan's chest to listen to his breathing pattern. It was weak; his breathing pattern was irregular. Lancelot pulled off Tristan's boots and stripped the knight of his armor, weapons, and tunic. He left only his pants on. At that point, Tristan's breathing had gone raspy. His body jolted now and then, trying to fight off the poison that flowed throught his veins.

Lancelot poured some water into Tristan's mouth, but he ended up spitting it out while coughing. Lancelot set the water flask aside and kneeled by Tristan's bed. He grasped the knight's hand and arm with his own. He could feel Tristan grasp his hand and arm back firmly.

"Come on, Tristan, you can beat this," Lancelot whispered.

Tristan's body twisted on the bed, and Lancelot lay over him slightly to hold him down. He looked into Tristan's face.

"It will pass, Tristan," Lancelot said. "It will pass because you are strong, and your life has been short. You are still needed in this world."

When Tristan still could not answer, Lancelot did something he thought he would never do. He looked upward and spoke to the heavens.

"God in heaven, whether by my will or Yours, You will not take this man yet," Lancelot shouted. "By God, he is not Yours to claim!"

When Lancelot finished, he had not noticed that Tristan's body had stopped quivering uncontrollably. He turned back to the knight at looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, but Tristan's breathing pattern had suddenly improved. A thin smile ran across Lancelot's lips.

"See, I told you it would pass, Tristan. I think you're going to be all right now," Lancelot told him.

When Lancelot began to stand, he was suddenly pulled back down by the bedside by Tristan. Though he still did not open his eyes, his lips uttered two words to Lancelot, "Thank you."

Patting Tristan's shoulder tenderly, Lancelot rose to his feet and left the scout's tent so that he may sleep off his fatigue...

Lancelot went back to Tristan's tent three more times during the night, for he feared that the sickness Tristan had carried would return unexpectedly. He had checked over and listened to Tristan's sleeping body those three times, and each time he was at ease with himself. The sickness had not returned.

Lancelot finally lay down on his bedroll a few hours before dawn and found sleep. It was a good thing, too. Tomarrow his men and he would venture northeast to Hadrian's Wall to meet with their new commanding officer...

Tristan opened his eyes and they locked onto the water flask beside him. Eagerly, he gulped down all the water. He sighed heavily and forced his body to sit upright. He had braced himself, expecting to feel pain all over his body, but there was none. He paused for a moment, expecting to feel the sickness within him, but their was nothing. Tristan noticed it was still dark outside, but knew it must still be near dawn. Swinging his legs over the bedside, Tristan stood and stretched. Minus his few sore joints, Tristan felt incredible.

Since it was not yet day, Tristan decided to venture down to the nearby stream and wash up a bit. He didn't know when he would next get to bathe, or when he had last time bathed. He smelled like some dead creature from the wild. Leaving his belongings in the tent, Tristan passed all the sleeping men as he walked off toward the stream. Kneeling on the bank of the stream, Tristan quickly washed up, splashing water on his face, chest, arms, and hands.

After washing, Tristan made his way back to his tent. Dawn was nearly upon them now. As he pulled back the tent flap, Tristan was slightly startled, but not surprised, to find Lancelot inside. The younger knight turned when he heard Tristan enter.

"Lancelot," Tristan nodded to him.

"I thought you might have left again," Lancelot said.

Tristan walked over to his belongings and began to pull on the rest of his clothes. "What, naked and unarmed?"

Lancelot chuckled, his dark curls bouncing on his head. "No, I suppose that would be even more foolish than trying to leave when your both wounded and deathly ill."

"Have you come to lecture me now?" Tristan wondered.

The knight sighed deeply. "No, I haven't, but would it do you any good if I would?"

"No," Tristan replied, pulling on his boots. He looked over at Lancelot. "Is this you happy face, Lancelot?"

"You could have died, Tristan, died!" Lancelot lashed out.

"But, I didn't," Tristan said, standing. "You saw to that."

"What you did was irresponsible and utterly foolish!" Lancelot added.

"Oh, so now I am a fool?" Tristan retorted. "Tell me something I don't know. I knew this was going to be a lecture."

Tristan resheathed his sword at his side and slung his bow and arrows around his back. Lancelot sighed again, and walked forward to him as he turned his back.

"I'm sorry...now where are you going?" Lancelot said.

"I thank you for your aid, now I will be off," Tristan answered, not turning around.

"Come with me, with us to Hadrian's Wall today," Lancelot said. "Once we get there, you can do as you please. But, it would please me even more if you would join us, knight."

Tristan turned to meet Lancelot's inquiring gaze.

"I don't think so," was Tristan's reply. "I've all ready lost all my companions, I will not lose more."

"You can't live in the past, Tristan. Let the dead bury the dead and come with us," Lancelot asked again. "We need you; I need you fighting by my side."

Lancelot held out his hand to Tristan. "So, will you join us, my friend?"

Tristan looked down at Lancelot's hand for a moment and blew out a sigh. Then, he nodded. "All right, I will travel with you."

Lancelot's smile brightened as he shook the other knight's hand. "Glad to hear it. We will leave here in an hour, so prepare."

With that, Lancelot exited the tent.

Tristan didn't lounge about during that hour, for he had two retrieve his horse and Illiana. His horse was easy enough to find, for it was the only pure white one of the bunch. After brushing out his horse's coat, he re-saddled it and mounted. Then, he whistled out into the new morning for Illiana. Lancelot, who had rode up beside him, followed the motion of Tristan's voice through the clouds. Within moments, Illiana soared through the air and landed on Tristan's extended arm. The bird lovingly nuzzled at Tristan's cheek, and he stroked the hawk's feathers.

"That is a fine hawk you have there, Tristan," Lancelot said with a smile. "Without her, I might have never found you in time."

Tristan nodded and continued to stroke his hawk.

"Are you sure you are well enough to ride?" Lancelot asked.

"I will not die from it, I promise you," Tristan responded.

Lancelot threw back his head and laughed. "Welcome back, my friend. I will see you later."

Tristan watched Lancelot as he rode to the front of the line of knights. He looked at his hawk again.

"What do you know about that, girl? He's not so bad after all, is he?" Tristan spoke to Illiana softly.

As Lancelot called out to the rest of the knights to ride, Tristan followed afterward. He didn't know much about this place they were traveling to. Hadrian's Wall, he thought to himself, what kind of name was that? Shrugging, Tristan started his horse into a nice, slow gallop after the knights that had all ready ridden ahead.

**End, 'Ten.'**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Eleven**

_Two Days Later_

Tristan rode up beside Lancelot and the others, who sat upon the hill that overlooked the camp. It had been a mostly uneventful ride the past couple of days, but they had finally arrived at Hadrian's Wall. Tristan surveyed the land, and even the men at the outpost below the rolling hills. He scoffed slightly under his breath. What was so great about Hadrian's Wall? It was true that few things in life intrigued Tristan. This was one of those things.

Lancelot came up beside the scout and rested his hands on his knees.

"What did I let you talk me into this?" Tristan wondered.

"No one told you to come, Tristan," Lancelot answered. "Which means that you are free to leave at any time."

"Is this what you say to every man you meet?" Tristan asked.

"If the conversation calls for it, then, yes," Lancelot replied humbly. "No man should be forced to think, feel, or act anything other than what they do. All men are free to do what they choose, when they choose, and how they choose to live."

"Is this what they taught you over the years? You sound like a spokesman for the Gods," Tristan said.

Lancelot laughed, his eyes lighting up. "Let's just say it's some common sense. We are free, remember?"

Tristan looked down at the camp again. "Yes, free, but for how long, I wonder?"

Lancelot didn't have a reply to Tristan's last comment, for he couldn't say for sure himself. He gingerly tapped his horse's side and led the others down to the campsite. The moment that they arrived at the bottom of the hill, Tristan and Lancelot were met by two other men. One man was tall, broad shoulder, and mostly bald. The second man was bald, stout, and slightly overweight.

"Hey, Dag, I didn't know they let just anyone join up now," the shorter man said. "Rome must be going even more bugger on us then before!"

Tristan immediately recognized the two men, as did Lancelot. He sat forward in his saddle and finally dismounted.

"They must have heard you were here, Bors, so they sent the rest of us to keep an eye on your sorry arse!" Lancelot joked, extending his hand. "Good to see you again, Bors!"

Tristan looked from Bors to the other man, whom he remembered was Dagonet. The man had not changed all that much, except for being older, obviously, and the scar across the side of his face. Dagonet extended his arm toward him.

"It's good to see you again, Tristan," the man spoke softly, as he always had.

"Dagonet," Tristan replied, nodding to the man.

Then, a voice called out, "What's this, a convention of worthless buggers?"

The four men turned as they were approached by two more knights. The first knight was average height, with long, curly blond hair. The second knight was shorter, with darker hair, and younger.

"And, I thought Rome had had their fill of men like that?" the younger knight added to the first knight's comment.

"Guess you can't be right all the time, eh, Gawain?" Bors laughed heartilly.

Gawain turned slightly and folded his arms. "Hey, don't forget that it was Galahad here that dragged us all into this in the first place."

Of course, Tristan thought, who could forget Gawain and Galahad. Tristan recogonized the younger knight who had grown from his boyhood and into a young man. He nodded to Galahad, as Galahad had alos noticed the scout, and nodded back just before Bors had placed him into a headlock.

"Yeah, yeah, leave it to Skirtboy here to bring it all down on us!" Bors laughed out again.

"All right, all right, but we can do without the name calling all ready, Bors!" Galahad forced Bors' strong arms from his neck and stood straight up again. "This stupid kilt wasn't my first choice either. Wasn't my fault that everything else was taken. But, I've gotten along just fine with it."

The knights shook their heads. Then, Gawain said, "Hey, did any of you see the new commander yet?"

Lancelot shook his head. "No, we were told just to assemble here to await our new orders."

Bors looked from Lancelot to Tristan. "You came with him, eh? What's the matter, got lost?"

Tristan simply rolled his eyes, and Bors laughed hysterically. He slapped Tristan on the shoulder. "Hey, you gotta loosen up a bit, man! I was just kidding!"

"All right, Bors, how much have you drunk tonight?" Gawain asked, folding his hands before his waist. "You know when you get back, you keep that up, and Vanora'll kill you yet!"

Bors slapped his knee. "That woman, I tell you, is like a vipe, waiting to strike! But, alas, she can't keep her hands off of me!"

"She can't, or you can't?" Galahad asked. "If I remember right, you were the one all over her last time we were in town."

Tristan was astonished by these four other knights. He had known him such a short amount of time, but they seemed to know one another quite well. He wondered how it was that only he and Lancelot felt so out of place from the rest...

After the knights had been allowed to rest and eat, they were summoned around the campfire with their ale to meet their new commander. Tristan sat in the shadows and looked out at the other men. There was not more than 50 or 60 of them, but they filled the camp with such warmth and personality. Tristan didn't understand their ways, or maybe, he just couldn't.

The men talked amongst themselves for a short period of time. Then, the commander's tent opened, and he stepped out in front of the knights. Tristan watched as the man proudly made his way in front of the spectating men. He stood coolly in front of the blazing fire and peered out at everyone. Tristan could feel that this man had a strong presense; maybe an even stronger presense then his own. The commander's green eyes scanned over each of the men.

"Men, I am Arthur, commander of the Sarmatian army. You all are now my knights," the man paused, and smiled under his breath. "There, I am glad now, that we are done with the formalities, and can get down to business."

The knights chuckled and raised thei ale to this man. Even Lancelot and the rest did so after realizing who this man was. Arthur. He had been the quietest and second smallest to the seven of them. Now, he was a man, bold and daring, and the leader of many knights. It was strange to witness such a spectacle. Tristan had thought that his new life at Hadrian's Wall would be deathly boring, but perhaps it would not be. Still, it was remained to be seen.

"I will have new orders for us as a group in due time, but until then, you all will be assigned to individual duties. I will speak to every man here in spare time, and I encourage you all to do the same," Arthur said. "From now on, the men that sit around you will be like your best friend from here on out. I suggest that you all get some rest tonight. That is all for now. You are dismissed."

As the men began to disperse, Tristan walked back over to where Lancelot and the other knights were talking.

"Can you believe him, talking so much like a man, when he is practically still a boy!" Bors said. "Why do they give such an important job to someone who's younger than all of us here, minus Galahad, that is."

"Perhaps there is more to this Arthur than meets the eye," Dagonet answered.

"Yes, Bors, you of all people should know better than to judge a man before you know them," Lancelot said.

"Well, he still looks like a washed-up has-been if you ask me!" Bors said glumly.

"Would you say so to his face?" Gawain asked.

"You bet I would!" Bors said.

"Good, here's your chance," Tristan said.

Bors turned to see Arthur making his way toward the group and froze. The other knights hid their smiles as their new commander approached them.

"Knights, I am glad to see you all again," Arthur said, shaking their hands. "I hope you all will forgive my intrusion now, and my not meeting with you earlier. I wanted to speak to the men as a whole before we met on an individual basis."

"You need not apologize, sir," Lancelot said.

Arthur waved his hand. "Please, call me Arthur, all of you."

He turned to Bors slightly as he spoke, "But, I must warn you, I have eyes in the back of my head."

Arthur made sure the others knew of the joke, and Bors sighed heavily. The commander turned back to Tristan and folded his hands behind his back.

"Tristan, might I have a word with you in private?" Arthur inquired.

Tristan nodded absentmindedly and followed the commander away from the other knights. Arthur stopped and turned back to him.

"If I remember right, you scout, do you not?" Arthur said.

"Yes, I am a scout," Tristan answered.

"Then, I was wondering if you might grant me a favor?" Arthur asked, and continued. "I would like it very much so if you would become my personal scout. Someone who can travel out first, check the roads, and what-have-you. So, Tristan, would you do me the honor of becoming my scout?"

Tristan didn't hesitate in shaking Arthur's hand. "The pleasure, Arthur, is mine."

As Arthur left him to attend to his other affairs, Tristan looked back at Lancelot, who smiled slighly and nodded back at him. Tristan smiled to himself and shook his head as he headed from the campsite into the sanctuary of the woods. This was most definately Lancelot's doing. There was no doubt about that in Tristan's mind.

**End, 'Eleven.'**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Thanks to all the reviewers.**

**Twelve**

_Later that night..._

Tristan made his way back to camp at dusk and reached it just after. He saw that many of the other knights were all ready sleeping, or preparing for sleep. It was going to be a long day tomarrow. Leaving Illiana to make her midnight rounds for food in the forest, Tristan walked back into camp. Just as he did, he noticed Lancelot sitting alone near a campfire. His eyes reflected the flames in them, showing how deep in thought the knight was. Tristan kept walking toward his tent, until Lancelot's smooth voice called out to him.

"Tristan," he said. "Come join me by the fire."

Turning on his heels, Tristan replied, "I did not know I needed permission for such a task."

"It wasn't; it was more a friendly request," Lancelot answered. "But, if it's permission you want, permission granted."

Cocking his head back, Tristan gradually back-tracked his steps until he was beside the fire. He sat on the dried log on the ground next to Lancelot and peered into the fire.

"So, what did Arthur ask you?" Lancelot wondered, sitting forward.

"Is that what you wanted me to come over here about, what Arthur said?" Tristan retorted.

"Just making conversation, Tristan," Lancelot replied, putting up his hands for a moment. "No need to get so defensive."

"Who's being defensive?" Tristan put his own foot in his mouth and Lancelot grinned slightly.

After a moment of silence, Tristan replied, "He asked me to scout for him from now on."

"It is a brave and important job. I believe it will suit you well, will it not?" Lancelot asked, cracking sticks and thowing them into the fire.

"If it means I get to see less of your ugly faces, then yes, it does," Tristan joked.

Lancelot threw back his head and laughed. "Tristan, I am glad to see that underneath it all, you still make room to have a sense of humor. You should show it more often."

"So, I can be just like the rest of them here?" Tristan said. "No thanks; I'd rather walk into woad territory unarmed."

"Aww, come on, the guys aren't all bad."

"Maybe so."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"No problem, I just think they don't take their jobs as seriously as they should. If they were ambushed tonight, not one of the drunken bastards would even be able to stand, let alone fight and defend themselves!"

"I don't know, Tristan. They might surprise you someday."

"Let's hope not."

Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at the scout. "Why not?"

Tristan looked at Lancelot through strands of dark hair. "Because I hate surprises."

"Of course, I should have known," Lancelot smiled, leaning back and gazing up at the starlit sky.

A moment later, Tristan looked over the the younger knight and smiled, bemused, for he had fallen asleep. Silently, the scout rose and retreated back to the forest area. He would sleep better there alone, and he would also be able to listen for any possible intruders at the same time...

Opening his eyes, Tristan sat up and peered around the perimeter. Everyone was still asleep, and the area was secure. He could smell the drops of dew that clung to the early morning. Dawn would soon be upon them. Standing, Tristan stretched and began his short hike to the top of the hill to watch the sunrise. As he approached it, though, he was surprised to see that someone had all ready filled his spot upon the hill. Tristan watched the man curiously for a moment and concluded that he was no enemy, but a knight. The knight was younger, possibly around Galahad or Gawain's age. His face held a sense of untouched youth, and his eyes were quite serene. He seemed so focused and at peace with the world around him. Tristan wondered if the man noticed anything besides the rising sun, which he seemed to be watching.

Tristan just stood a way behind the other knight and watched the beautiful sunrise. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the warm rays of the sun. He knew that there would not be many more suns like this one. The days were getting shorter and the nights longer. Lost in the moment, Tristan didn't realize that the other knight had noticed him until he was practically by Tristan's side.

"Beautiful, is it not?" the man said, nodding at the sun.

Tristan straightened up and looked at the man.

"The days are grower colder, as well as shorter. Winter will be upon us soon enough," Tristan replied.

The man agreed. "I've been watching sunrise for as long as I can remember. Each one more beautiful than the last. It is refreshing to see that I am not Mother Nature's only admirer."

Tristan didn't say anything as he looked the man over more closely, but only nodded. The man extended his hand to him.

"Forgive me, we have not been introduced," the man said. "My name is Percival. And, you are?"

Not seeing any harm in shaking the man's hand, Tristan did so. "Tristan."

"Ah, yes, I've heard of you from Arthur just last evening."

"News travels fast, does it?"

"He said that you are his new scout. I take it that this job is agreeable for you?"

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have taken it. Speaking of, I need to be attending my duties as of now."

Percival stepped back and placed his hands behind his back.

"Of course, don't let me keep you. It has been a pleasure, I hope we can talk again."

Nodding, Tristan left the rather perky man as he made his way back into the forest to scout. Strangely, throughout the entire morning scout, Tristan couldn't get Percival from his mind. The knight was different from all the others somehow. He seemed pure and uncorrupted of a knight's daily life. Chuckling to himself, Tristan thought that if Percival had another name, it would be innocence.

Just as he rode back from scouting, Tristan noticed fresh footprints on the ground. His eyes opened widely as he raced back to camp to inform Arthur of his findings.

Stopping just before the commander, Tristan said, "Arthur, we have to get moving now."

"What have you found, Tristan?" the commander asked.

"Woad tracks, not more than a mile from camp," the scout replied.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement as he mounted his horse. Lancelot rode up to the two. Tristan looked from him andback to Arthur.

"We will follow you directly. I want you to ride ahead, Tristan and make sure the path is clear," Arthur ordered.

Tristan looked from Arthur back to Lancelot for a moment, before he turned his horse around and headed back out onto the trail.

Arthur spoke to the rest of the knights as they mounted their horses. "We will split up to avoid a possible woad ambush. I will only need a few of you to come along with me on the more dangerous trail. The rest of you will go another way and meet up with us in a day at the next fort-town."

Gazing around at his knights, Arthur chose the men that would ride with him. "Lancelot, Dagonet, Bors, Gawain, Galahad, and Percival. You six will follow Tristan and I. The rest of you, be careful and take great care; see you in a day. Dismissed!"

The six appointed knights walked their horses through the crowd of knights going in the opposite direction. Drawing Excalibur, Arthur led them into the forest, following Tristan's trail.

The knights and Arthur soon caught up with Tristan, as he awaited their arrival near the river. Arthur rode up to the scout, with Excalibur still in his hand.

"Report," Arthur said.

"Woad tracks to the western and northern roads; we have no choice but to travel east," Tristan replied, sitting forward in his saddle.

Noticing the other six knights behind Arthur, Tristan raised an eyebrow to his commander.

"You would travel with so few a knight?" Tristan wondered.

"If I didn't truly believe that you seven weren't good enough, I wouldn't have invited you along," Arthur replied outright.

"Fair enough," Tristan answered, manuevering his horse to fall in line with the others.

Lancelot glanced ot Tristan, but then at Percival when he saw the scout watching him.

He leaned in by him and whispered, "Friend of yours?"

Tristan let out a chuckle, "We hardly met, so I could hardly call him a friend of mine."

Raising his arm high, Tristan whistled for Illiana, whom was flying overhead. Gently, the hawk swooped down and landed on the scout's forearm. Percival came upon the other side of Tristan's horse and smiled.

"Magnificent creature you have there, Tristan," Percival said.

"So they keep telling me," Tristan replied, stroking the bird.

"Is she tame?" Percival wondered.

"No," Tristan shook his head.

"Good, because then again, neither are you," he added with a grin.

Tristan watched the younger knight as he rode ahead to speak with Gawain and Galahad. Peering over at Lancelot, he noticed that the knight had suddenly went silent. He didn't know what to say to him. Feeling awkward again, Tristan rode ahead of Arthur and the others to scout the road ahead.

**End, 'Twelve.'**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Thanks to all the reviewers!**

**Thirteen**

Tristan passed thick oaks as he scouted ahead. As he did, an arrow whizzed through the air from the trees, and knocked Tristan from his horse. The arrow had barely clipped his arm, but he found himself suddenly in an ambush without a horse.

"Tristan!" a voice called from behind as the rest of the knights rode up.

Tristan waved for them that he was fine, and quickly drew his bow and arrows. The other knights drew their weapons as well, but couldn't see where the woads resided. Tristan shot two arrows into a tree, and two woads screamed as they fell to their deaths.

"Archers!" Arthur shouted, directing the others.

The knights quickly changed weapons to bows and arrows and began firing into the trees. Tristan noticed out of the corner of his eye the woads on foot that came their way. As Tristan made his way toward them, both Lancelot and Percival also noticed his motives. They lept from their horses and joined Tristan while the other knights covered them. Tristan casually walked forward, swinging his blade left and right.

"Here woadie, woadie, woadie," he said quietly.

He quickly turned and drove his sword through one woad's stomach as he ran towards him. He lifted his weapon again to block two woads' weapons as they came down on them. Thrusting himself forward with all of his strength, Tristan pushed back the offenders. He pasued for a moment and surveyed the area. He knew that there were too many woads for them to handle.

"Get back to the horses!" Tristan shouted to Lancelot.

Turning to tell Percival the same, Tristan saw that he was directly in harm's way. An archer stood on the tree nearly above him. Tristan took a dagger from his chest plate and lunged it at the woad archer. Percival came to attention as he struck down another woad and looked to Tristan.

"To the horses, Percival!" Tristan said.

Percival nodded and knocked through three female woads. One jumped upon his back and tried to pull him down, but he used his leg and arm muscles to escape them. He knocked one of them over and hit the other two females with the hilt of his sword. Hastily, Percival and Lancelot made their way back to their steeds and mounted. Tristan quickly followed as he kept the woads at bay for a moment.

"Tristan!" Lancelot said, holding out his hand for the scout.

Having no horse as of now,the scoutquickly mounted up behind Lancelot just long enough to escape from the woad ambush.

"Forward, knights!" Arthur commanded as he rode hard.

The knights, dodging any final arrows, rode hurridly after their commander. Some time later, after escaping the ambushing woads, the knights slowed their horses' paces. Arthur looked around at each of his knights.

"Is everybody all right?" he asked.

"Well, that really got the adrenaline goin', eh?" Bors said. "Now, I'm hungry."

"Bors, do you always think about your stomach at times like these?" Gawain asked.

"He doesn't think about it. He just fights and eat, fights and eats," Dagonet said.

"It's no wonder then that he's so fat!" Lancelot grinned.

"Aww come on, then there's just more of me to love!" Bors chuckled.

"Guess your the only one who could say a line like that. Bet it brings all the women running," Lancelot added.

"If they're running to me, they must be bored with you!" Bors slapped his knee.

"No, then it would mean I must be dead, the day they go for you," Lancelot said.

The knights chuckled at him.

"No, it's true. If anything every happened to me, there'd be a lot of miserable women out there," Lancelot smiled again.

"It's a shame," Galahad said. "Guess that'd warm our beds more often then."

"Yeah, maybe we should kill him now, eh?" Bors asked, his face turning red with laughter.

Arthur eyed up his knights. "Now, if you all are quite finished, we will make camp over there by those trees. I don't think the woads would befoolish enough to try anything else tonight; just remember to keep an eye out, though."

As the others went to prepare camp, Tristan strapped his weapons to his back and headed out again, horse or no horse. He nodded to the lighter haired knight, Percival, and Lancelot both as he passed them. He would be back later after he found his horse. After all, a knight with no horse is a foolish one.

It didn't take long for Tristan to track down his white horse, for it had not traveled far. It had stopped by a stream for water after fleeing from the forest. Tristan stroked the horse's snout and spoke softly to it, before mounting the steed and riding him back to camp. It was late in the evening, so Tristan did not bother to call back Illiana. He knew she would want to hunt for her supper tonight, because he could not.

Tying up his horse near the others, Tristan went and sat down near the fire by the other knights. Percival smiled to him slightly as he handed the scout a dish with meat and dried bread on it. Tristan thanked him with a nod, and began to slowly eat his food. He wanted to make it last as long as possible, because he knew there was not much food to go around. They had to eat in rations in order to salvage their food. Water, on the other hand, was not an issue. The knights always kept their flasks full. They even had little viles of liquor to mix with it to kill the bacteria and make it taste better all at once. Tristan knew though, that it was only a petty excuse for the knights to get drunk.

After the knights had finished their meal, Arthur came to Tristan again, as he suspected he would.

"Tristan, I need you to take first watch tonight. Someone will relieve you when the time comes," Arthur said.

Nodding to his commander, Tristan walked to the outskirts of camp and built himself a small fire to keep warm. Then, he settled down and prepared to take the first watch of the night.

Dusk came and went, and Tristan lay back on the ground near his fire and gazed up at the heavenly sky. The stars shown brightly this night, like tiny glowing embers of the fire of twilight. The night was calm and the weather mild. Fireflies and lightning bugs danced together in strings of light. The short green grasses tickled Tristan's neck and he lay. The night was like a peaceful hmyn, even more beautiful than the day. The calls of the wild, the insects, the birds, even the cry of the wolf calmed him accordingly. As his eyes nearly closed from him being so relaxed, Tristan decided it'd be better if he sat up after all.

The moon waned in the midnight sky sleepily, its cover was the blanket of glorious stars that surrounded it. Tristan brought his knees up slightly, and placed his elbows across his them. His dark eyes watching the flickering lights of the blazing fire caused them to begin to close again. Then,he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Percival there, and he sat beside him.

Tristan peered around and noticed the others were asleep. Then, helooked back at Percival, who seemed entranced by the stars in the sky.

"It's late, you should sleep," Tristan said.

"I would say the same of you," Percival answered. "Don't you think I've realized by now that even though someone is supposed to relieve you of watch duty, they never do. You keep watch all night with barely any sleep in between. Why do you not say something to Arthur?"

"Arthur has more important things on his mind. I am not one to complain either. Keeping watch every night is as relaxing a job as one can have. It does not bother me," Tristan replied.

"It bothers me, though," Percival said with a kind smile. "I've slept enough. You sleep; I will keep watch for you."

Tristan raised his eyebrows. Why was Percival so nice to him? He was unlike the rest of the knights. He seemed to care more for his well-being than anyone. It was alarming and strange, yet he was glad for it.

"Thank you," Tristan whispered as he lay back on the ground again.

He turned on his side, facing away from Percival, yet he could still feel the knight's eyes on him. Chills ran down Tristan's spine and he shivered. it was a strange, yet refreshingly beautiful feeling Tristan suddenly felt for Percival, but he wasn't sure what it was. The younger knight was pure of heart and a good man. Tristan admired him for that. Soon, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

**End, 'Thirteen.'**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Thanks to all the reviewers!**

**Fourteen**

Lancelot's dark bedroom eyes followed Percival as he walked over to and sat by Tristan. He silently watched them coverse in whispers, their movements, their gestures, everything. He suddenly felt like a hawk watching his prey. After awhile, he noticed Tristan turned over, probably to sleep, as Percival sat near him. His gaze wandered aimlessly over the younger knight, who's eyes seemed completely fixed upon the sleeping scout.

After he was sure Tristan was asleep, Lancelot rose from his bedroll and made his way over to where Percival sat. As he approached, Percival quickly turned his attention from Tristan to Lancelot.

Standing, Percival whispered, "Lancelot, what can I do for you?"

"I've come to take watch; you go to bed," he said.

"I've slept all ready, and I've just taken over the watch, too," Percival answered.

Lancelot's gaze on Percival intensified. "Go to bed, Percival."

The younger knight held up his hands in defense.

"I have no quarrel here with you. What is this all about anyway?" he wondered.

Lancelot brought himself to say things he thought he never would, but it was necessary. "You know damn well what this is about. Tristan. I've been with him longer than you or anyone. I've taken care of him when he was hurt. Just because you came along, doesn't give you the right to have claim on him."

"I haven't taken anything from you. Tristan is a man, not a possession; he is not yours to claim either," Percival retorted.

"Damn it, man, I'm telling you to stand down!" Lancelot said.

There was a stir from Tristan; the two froze in their place. Once he settled again, the knights resumed their arguement.

"And if I don't stand down? What are you going to do, Lancelot? What do you think you are _really_ going to do?" Percival's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I won't give him up that easily."

As Lancelot raised his finger to him, there was yet another stir from the otherside of camp.

"Shut it up over there, tryin' to sleep!" came Bors' sleepy voice.

Lancelot turned back to Percival, who took no action to move from where he stood. The fire in Percival's eyes was like lightning from the sky. His determined face nearly mirrored Lancelot's.

Then, another voice came in a whisper, "Both of you go to bed."

The two knights peered over and saw Tristan was now crouched on the ground, and was packing his supplies for morning. His eyes narrowly peered through his mass of dark hair. As he chewed on a bit, he repeated, "Go to bed. It'll be an early start this coming morning."

The younger knights were speechless. Had Tristan heard their conversation or not? They dared not to say anymore, but left and went to their seperate bedrolls. Tristan took a moment more where he sat, before standing. Slinging his things over his shoulder, he marched away from the restless campsite into the early dawn to go scouting before the others awoke.

When dawn arrived the knights restlessly shuffled about the campsite. Gawain and Galahad cleaned up the camp while Dagonet cooked breakfast. Arthur was surveying their location, while Bors still snored on his bedroll. Lancelot and Percival had been given the task of watering and feeding horses, and making sure everything was in order. They never once looked at or spoke to one another.

Galahad nudged Gawain's shoulder and nodded towards Lancelot and Percival.

"What's wrong with those two?" he asked the long-haired knight.

"I'm not sure. They haven't spoke to each other at all this morning," he answered.

Bors, who had finally managed to get up and make his way over for breakfast chuckled lightly. "Talkin' about those squawking birds, eh? I heard them fighting over one thing or another before dawn."

"What about?" Dagonet wondered, biting into his bread.

"Hell if I know! I told them to shut up cuz I was tryin' to sleep. All's I saw was Tristan say something to them; the two went to bed, and Tristan went out again," Bors answered, grabbing some meat off the slab by the cooking fire. "Then I was asleep again."

Arthur heard the knights conversation as he came over to them. "Well, never you mind those three. Whatever it is, they'll work it out."

Bors rolled his eyes and continued to eat.

"Arthur, how long until we reach home, do you think?" Galahad asked, sitting forward.

The commander looked toward the horizon, and then back at the knights.

"I'm not entirely sure. A few days maybe, as long as the woads stay away, that is," Arthur replied.

Bors smirked. "Guess that means we should shoot for a week, eh?"

"Bors, just eat and shut up," Gawain said with a smile. "Huh, I never thought I'd hear myself tell Bors to eat. Must be getting old."

"Naw, not old. Just ugly!" Bors slapped his belly and laughed. "But, I'll keep my stomach here anyday."

Galahad practically choked on his food. "Yeah, a real ladies' man, huh?"

Gawain pointed to the first knight, who still was avoiding Percival and the rest. "No, Lancelot's the ladies' man of us all, right, Lancelot!"

Lancelot barely looked up at the laughing knights. When he did, though, he caught sight of Percival who gave him a dirty look along with a deep-throated chuckle.

Then, he said, "Boy, do they have you figured out wrong."

Lancelot finished saddling his horse, but didn't look up at Percival. "Just forget it, all right? Who knows what Tristan all heard last night, fool!"

"It'd be better if he had heard it all. Then, maybe he would really see the other side of Lancelot, the not so charming side," Percival snapped.

Lancelot dropped what he was holding and stormed over to Percival. "Well, if you would have backed off, none of this would've happened!"

"You started it, friend, so don't take it out on me!"

"Don't call me 'friend.' I'm no friend of yours."

"You really are narrow-minded and selfish, aren't you?"

"At least I am a real man who can admit when I'm wrong!"

"Because you are wrong, that's why! I won't just go away, you know. I'm not leaving, so get used to it."

As the two knights were practically at one another's throats now, Arthur called out to them.

"That's enough, knights!" he shouted. "Get yourselves together. We leave once Tristan returns."

Lancelot straightened his sleeves and shirt as he scowled at Percival. Percival shot Lancelot a sour look in return. This was not over. Not by a long shot.

Tristan sat in the branches of an apple tree he had found. The tree contained no apples at this time of year, yet Tristan found it appealing that there would be a fruit tree in these parts of the land. After scouting, he had climbed the tree and sat there still and silent for hours. It was a time for Tristan to be able to think about things. He had thought everything was going as well as they could, until in fact, he heard Lancelot and Percival's arguement the previous night. He wasn't about to let the knights know what he knew, for they would most likely know soon enough. He didn't know what to do about the situation. He cared for both knights to an extent, maybe Percival a little more on the side of friendship, though.

He sighed heavily and relaxed his tensed body up against the tree trunk. How could he tell the two the way he felt. He was not good with emotions and the like. How could he tell Lancelot and Percival that he did not love either, for he loved another? He had only one love, and he knew it was something that he must tell both the knights at the same time.

The sun was rapidly climbing over the treetops. Tristan knew it was time to go back once again. With Illiana flying overhead, Tristan climbed down the tree and rode bck to camp. He would tell Lancelot and Percival that night, his decision. What else could be done? This was the only thing he could do.

**End, 'Fourteen.'**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Thanks to all the reviewers!**

**Fifteen**

The music of nature was melonchaly this day. It usual earthy mood was silenced, as if nature had given up trying to be cheerful. Tristan felt like nature today. The robins and other songbirds had begun to leave the forests. All was quiet, subtle, but also tense. It was the calm before the storm. Whether it was the storm of winter, or something else, Tristan could not know. He hoped it was the first, though he felt that the latter of the two would reign supreme. The faithful sun rose slowly, and its colors ranged from light to darker oranges and reds. A slight whisper of clouds lingered over the top of the sun, and made it seem as if it were winking in Tristan's direction.

Tristan sighed deeply as he stood on the hill that overlooked where they had made camp the previous night. The long nights tortured Tristan enough, but it had become the days that almost killed him. He knew that the others must be suspicious of the situation between Lancelot, Percival, and he. His notions were solemnly answered entirely when Arthur approached him as he came into camp. He took Tristan aside for a moment to speak with him.

"Tristan," he said. "I know not of the issues between Lancelot, Percival, and yourself, but I suggest you three work it out and soon. I will not have any of you, especially those two, brawling anymore. It's interferring and becoming to the point of violence."

"I understand," Tristan answered.

Arthur looked at his scout with question in his green eyes. "Is there something you would like to talk about? Anything at all?"

Tristan nodded no. "I thank you, Arthur, but no. There are some things a man must figure out himself. This situation is one of those things."

"Then, I leave it all in your hands, Tristan. I trust that you will be discreet," Arthur said.

"Very," was Tristan's reply.

"Good. Saddle up and ride on ahead. We'll be along accordingly," Arthur ordered.

He nodded to his commander as he left to tend to his horse. He nodded to the other knights as he passed them, Lancelot and Percival included, but he said nothing to them. They would speak tonight.

It had been another hard day's ride, but it had been even tougher with trying to avoid both Lancelot and Pericval, and knights' gossip. Tristan swore that the others were like scheming old ladies with nothing better to do than talk behind his back. He didn't let it bother him, though. He knew what he was doing. Besides, he had more important things on his mind.

After the other knights had stopped and readied to make camp, Tristan rode past Lancelot and Percival. As he did, he whispered to them, "Follow me."

The two younger knights exchanged confused glances and reluctantly followed the scout on horseback as he led them away from the main group. Again, the other knights watched the three leave, still partly unaware of anything that was happening. They just went about what they were doing, and tried not to think about it.

Once the three were out of hearing range of the others, and nearly out of sight as well, Tristan stopped his horse in its tracks. He blew out a soulful sigh and looked from Percival to Lancelot, and back.

Feeling uncomfortable, Percival said, "Tristan, we don't have to do this now."

"It's best to get everything out and over with as soon as possible. Besides, we can't have anymore outbreaks of you two. It's distracting to Arthur and the others," Tristan replied scornfully.

Lancelot scratched his neck and the back of his head nervously. "I suppose then that you heard our little arguement the other night?"

"I heard enough," Tristan replied.

Tristan quickly dismounted and was intently followed by the two younger knights as they ran after him.

"Of course it was all true! Are you that blind, Tristan?" Lancelot said, waving his arm through the air. "Can't you see what I feel for you?"

Percival cut in. "Now, wait just a minute! You make it sound like I care for him less than you do!"

"Because you do! I've known him longer, even as boys for awhile! I've always felt this sort of unknown bond between us," Lancelot answered.

"A bond?" Percival quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, a feeling that we were the same. A feeling that was mutual, I believe," Lancelot added.

"You feel that you two are the same. That is not the same as love!" Percival turned slightly to Tristan.

Lancelot continued his protest taking a few steps closer to the scout, who had remained in silence once again.

"You must have felt that same thing, Tristan! I know you must have; tell him you did!" Lancelot blurted out.

Tristan shook his head slightly, his thoughts still in a jumble. Then, he spoke, "Lancelot, I did feel that we were the same. We had a special connection on some level that I had with no one else."

Lancelot grinned and Percival frowned as Tristan continued.

"But, it was on a level of friendship," he said, and then looked at Percival. "You are a good man, Percival. Maybe one of the best I've ever met. Yet, you too, I think of only as a friend."

Both knights fell silent. Their eyes searched Tristan's face for recognition and answers. Tristan's heart beat like a thousand stallions running across the plains. He did not mean to tell them this way, but it was the only thing left that he could do.

Lancelot stepped forward again. "Why can you not love me as I love you?"

"Or I?" Percival added.

Tristan placed a hand on each of the knights' shoulders. They both stared at the ground, for they could not raise their chins tothe scout'sface.

"My friends, my brothers in arms...I cannot love you as you love me. You are my friends, nothing more. I only have one love in life, and I have no room for any other," Tristan explained.

Lancelot and Percival raised their heads at his words. Their lips all parted as if they wanted to say something more, but, the words wouldn't come.

"My one and only love in life...is that of my duty as well as myself," he said. "Scouting is my life; it always has been. I have not known any day since I can last remember that I was not dutiful on some account. It just happens that now my duty is to Arthur's command. Someday, perhaps, I will only have to answer to myself once again. But, until then, my love is here, in my duty."

He paused, then continued, "I hope you will both understand in time that this is the right decision. We will all reach home soon, and you both will eventually find wives and have many children. Until then, let us fight on together, as brothers."

He held out his hands to Lancelot and Percival. In a moment's notice, the two shook his hands firmly. Lancelot sighed deeply and stared at Tristan.

"We will always be there for one another, for you," Lancelot said.

Tristan smiled somewhat and looked at the other knight.

"Percival?" he asked.

Percival nodded in agreement. "All is forgiven, do not worry. I am with you as well."

Tristan felt a sense of relief and release as he, Lancelot, and Percival had come to an understanding. He knew that the two would take their time in healing, but that was all part of the process. As he made his way back to his bedroll at nightfall, he passed Arthur, who looked up to him with question still in his deep green eyes. Tristan smiled to him and nodded that everything was right now.

**End, 'Fifteen.'**

**THE END.**


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